Counterfeit
by mooncrossed
Summary: She's not out of the woods yet.  If Cass thought the 'Cons were insane, wait until she has to live with the Autobots.
1. Chapter 1

Counterfeit

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

By: Mooncrossed

_Whoo-hoo! After a series of grueling family problems lasting several months long, I'm back! I'd like to thank Writergurl616 for her review (Yeah, Swindle is pretty persistent. Glad you enjoyed the story!), Mikoto-chan92 (Yay, another Simmons fan! This is actually his grandson, Reuben. A little more baby-faced, but with the same charming personality traits.), and to SlipknotGhidorah (Yup, cabby Swindle. I wonder how much cash he's managed to rake in with that little disguise?) This story is the sequel to 'Confidence Game,' but can also be read as a stand alone fiction. I don't own Transformers or Weed-Wacker, and am not making a profit off of any of these products. However, I do own Cassidy, her friends and family, and her two alien house pets. As always, I give full credit to Jesus for my every inspiration. Without him, I wouldn't have any talent at all. _

_Detroit, the industrial district…_

Cassidy woke up drooling. Slowly peeling open one crusted over eyelid, she attempted to ascertain her situation. She was lying on the most heavenly bed in existence! It was so soft, so warm, so mind numbingly inviting… Ignoring an insistent urge to use the bathroom, the brunet snuggled down into her quilted paradise, merely using the slightest shift of neck muscles to relocate her face to a less damp location. Then she frowned.

Something felt… off. It wasn't the position she was in, although, it was pretty annoying to wake up kissing her left knee. Cass was used to sleeping twisted up like a pretzel. Likewise, it wasn't the fact that she didn't have any feeling in one arm, a problem that could easily be solved by lifting her butt. No, it was something else. Halfway between a coherent thought and deep sleep, she contemplated these important issues. At last, sighing, she made a colossal effort… to fall asleep again.

Then the covers tucked themselves in under her chin. Shrieking, she leaped to her feet as if she was spring loaded and stared wide eyed at the thing that had been lying on top of her. There was a ghost in her bed! She swore it was the truth. It was some soul sucking invisible demon in a long flowing black dress with scraggly spiked lace all around the collar. Looking around wildly, she snatched up a stray sneaker with the intent of bludgeoning it to death, only to pause. The neck hole gaped beseechingly as it wriggled it's arms. Slowly slithering off of the mattress, the garment inch-wormed across the concrete floor, scooting its bodice forward, then bunching the skirt up like a colossal bustle. As she stood there, studying this… okay, incredibly pathetic monster, it suddenly occurred to her that she had seen it before.

"Oh, Nicky," she groaned in tired exasperation. "Quit waking me up that way!" Lifting up it's spiky collar like a set of extra long feelers, it peered sightlessly at her, before scooting in her direction. Once it reached her feet, the alien house-pet rubbed up against her legs in a show of affection. Sighing, she scooped up the messy lump of living material, sat back down, and began stroking it's soft black rubbery skin. It bunched and wriggled as it attempted to climb all the way onto her lap. Funny, the first pet she'd always pictured having was a cat or a goldfish.

This was all Swindle's fault. Then again, she could blame everything that had happened to her during the last month and a half on Swindle and his 'employment technique,' in other words, getting kidnapped. They had driven one another absolutely crazy, then he'd ditched her with some of his living inventory. Long black spiky whiskers tickled her chin, and she grinned despite herself. "Well," she muttered to her spooky companion. "To be fair, he didn't exactly mean to leave yah behind."

Curious chirping noises reached her ears, and twisting around she saw a small toothless green face giving her a doggy grin. "Hey, Rover," she mumbled sleepily. Croaking softly, the animal huffed and pulled, until it had wrestled it's way out from under her pillow. Once free, it spread the multiple skin frills along it's back and inhaled air until it was three times bigger. This was the other surprise the Decepticon had left her with. It was a fruppy, at least that's what she called it. Swindle had another name for the creature, but there was no way she'd be able to pronounce it. Besides, it did look sort of like a miniature combination of a frog and a puppy. So, yeah, fruppy. Rover croaked contentedly as she stroked it's scaly hairless head. Yawning wide enough to crack her jaw, she choked at the set of ticklish feelers that drifted into her mouth. "Mmph?"

Alarmed at the feel of human teeth on it's whiskers, the dress leaped off her lap with a muffled thump and went cart-wheeling off to the other side of the room. Chirping happily, the fruppy hopped down, curling into a little round ball as he fell. The instant after he landed, he uncurled and gave chase. Cassidy had to snicker. Nicky just looked so comical when she was in a hurry. With her sleeves stiffened and her skirt puffed out to ball gown portions, she tumbled and leaped like a giant dysfunctional squirrel. She still had no idea what it's species was called, but she couldn't keep calling it 'Dress' all the time. Something that was alive needed to be named, and Nicky seemed to fit, considering it looked like a possessed ball gown.

Sluggishly climbing out of her bed, she got her first good look at what she'd been laying on. Presented before her eyes was a giant tire with a round mattress in the middle. Experimentally, she pressed her hand into the cotton sheet, and watched the imprint slowly resume it's shape. Foam? A quick investigation revealed that it really was what she suspected: a cut out of foam wedged into an old tractor tire and covered over with an old worn out sheet. It was inventive… in a galling sort of way. She hadn't known before that she was small enough to fit inside a monster-truck tire. "Obviously, I'm never going to get any taller than a Lilliputian," she yawned to herself, "But do they have to rub it in?"

Shrugging off the negative issue as too complicated for first thing in the morning, she stood up slowly and stretched. Good thing she'd slept in yesterdays clothes, because she did not want to waste any time getting dressed. "So, right," she mumbled sleepily, "Where's the bathroom?" The four blank walls of her room held no answers. Only one option was available to her, a door cut into a warehouse sized garage door. Frowning in thought, the brunet put on her sneakers and her portable coffeemaker. Shuffling up to the exit, Cassidy started to open it, only to meet resistance. Another shove made it move two inches. It took twenty more minutes of ramming her shoulder into the dusty surface before it abruptly swung wide making her fall on her face. "Oomph!"

What greeted her instantly watering eyes was disappointing. A corridor stretched on into the distance in either direction, wide enough to drive a truck through with room to spare. It was a concrete floored with cinder-block walls, and it was lit up with enough florescent bulbs to satisfy the entire state of New York! Squinting painfully, Cass looked left. The road stretched ever onward for miles. She looked right, discovering that this view was equally as dismal. Taking a deep breath, she called, "Hello? Is anyone out there?"

Only her echo replied. So, grumbling to herself, she retrieved her coffee maker and mug, because it was too much to ask that her room had an outlet. Then she stepped out into the corridor and warily pushed the door closed. After a moments indecision, she decided to go right. Maybe it was due to a vague memory from the night before, perhaps it was because of her innate sense of direction, but thirty minutes into her trudging journey got her nowhere. She was lost! Miserably, she wondered out loud, "Could this get any worse?" That was when a cramp struck her mid-section with the power of a boxer's punch, providing her with a healthy reminder of a problem of the unmentionable variety. "I had to ask."

Thirty more minutes of walking yielded no results and yelling for an answer was equally futile. Questioning the world at large, she grumbled, "Is this some sort of government psych test?" A rapid calculating glare flickered around her surroundings, searching for camera, hidden or obvious, yet there was nothing. That was when she noticed it. Voices! Well, more like one big booming saxophone, mixed with a screaming electric guitar, and accompanied by beeping and static. She'd been cussed out enough times by Swindle to recognize Cybertronian anywhere. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, the brunet could swear she recognized a few words. Whatever! As of now, she'd take a room full of Decepticons if it meant she had a toilet all to herself as part of the bargain!

Arriving in the Autobot's Rec-room at break neck speed, Cassidy barely glanced sideways at the décor as she hopped, skipped, and jumped her way into the bathroom. Vaguely recognizing rusted out industrial machinery, a vending machine, several vats of radio-active waste, and a forest of tall trees, she slammed the door shut. 'Aaah…'

Several long minutes passed by in which no other sound emerged. Frankly, Cassidy was a little reluctant to go back out there due to the incessant bright artificial overhead lighting. At last, gearing herself up for a long lonely trek across endless dusty concrete, the brunet reluctantly pushed open the flimsy hollow-wood door. Bright white lights instantly hit her face with stinging force and she ducked, cursing at the pain. Using the coffee maker as a shield over her eyes, she attempted to take in her surroundings. If God was feeling merciful, then somewhere out there a shady oasis was waiting for her to take refuge in. Her brain working at sub-light speeds, she ticked over the items she saw as she practically crawled to the safety of those trees she'd seen earlier. Giant conveyer belt? Check. Old rusted out mechanical assembly arms? Yep, that was there too. Grumpy looking two story tall robot? Um… what?

She squinted up at the behemoth in surprise. Standing there, neat as you please with a giant square mug in his massive fist, was a huge alien robot. Unable to take the strain of looking at the ceiling for too long, she dropped her gaze and blinked the motes from her eyes. That's when she noticed how thick his legs were. There were no feet, or at least, none that she could see. They were just two rusty brown, continuous tree like poles… 'Oh, that's where the forest came from,' she realized with a yawn. This particular robot, unlike Swindle, hadn't said a single word to her. 'And for that alone, I adore him,' she reflected gratefully as she slowly trudging away in her endless search for some welcoming darkness.

Stretching out along the wall was a row of doors, along with wide openings where glass used to reside, most likely stolen or vandalized. Beating a hasty retreat, she ducked into the first of the small rooms. It was water stained, with pealing wood sideboards and trash of various substances all over the floor. Sneezing at the scent of mildew, neglect, and she didn't want to know what else, the brunet squinted into the gloom. Glass crunched beneath her feet as she lifted what she'd thought had been a bookcase from the ground. What met her eyes very obviously wasn't that, it was full of too many cubby holes. So… a mail-sorter, maybe? Setting it back down, she continued her exploration. A desk that looked like it had seen the business end of an axe, the frayed remains of a phone chord still attached to the wall, hundreds of papers with faded leagaleeze printed all over them, and a swivel chair with about half it's rollers missing was what she found. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent odor of rat droppings.

Picking up her trusty coffeemaker, Cass tiptoed her way back into the open, hoping not to incite the wrath of the still silent alien. He was ignoring her and slowly clanking away, grumbling to himself in robot-speak. One eyebrow quirked, before she looked away. Then a smile brightened her features as she came across the one thing she'd never thought she'd find: a kitchen! It was worn out, and more than a little dirty, but still obviously in use. With idle relief, she filled the coffeemaker with water. Then she saw the plug next to it. Wasting no time she hooked it up to the wall and smiled when it instantly began percolating. "Yes! Wake up juice, here I come," she softly cheered to herself. A vented sigh made her cringe and look back. "Oh, yeah, the alien." Resolving to go on stealth mode from now until she got out of alien central, she began searching for fuel of her own, like the mini-fridge over in the corner! That looked promising… if one ignored the yellow stains on the outside.

Almost dreading what she'd discover, she slowly opened the refrigerator door. A gentle dim blue glow bathed her features before she grimaced. 'Yup,' was the brunet's conclusion. 'I didn't want to know.' Stacks of take-out food containers littered every shelf, gradually getting younger as they got toward the top. Boxes at the top might be edible… while the ones on the bottom looked like they'd expired during the previous century. She was just reaching inside to check the contents of the top-most frost-bitten items when something moved. Blackened dust particles shifted and formed, piecing together and reforming into a long tendril of tentacle… Menacingly it reached for her, and yelping, she slammed the door shut. Her heart hammering, blinking in alarm, she tried to rationalized what she'd seen. Maybe it had been a mirage. Or perhaps, it was an illusion brought on by hunger. The question remained, was she crazy enough to look again?

"Right," Cassidy declared in a state of false cheer, wiping her hands on her semi-clean pants. "So, moving on…" She spun around, walking at a fast pace to the only other food option. It was a vending machine! Her false smile faltered slightly as she got a glimpse of the contents. Candy bars and cheese-crackers stood in a nice neat row on the top shelf, the second level sported cupcakes and doughnuts, with the third continuing the pastry options in the form of cookies and packaged cakes. The bottom rows sported a motley selection. Cass had her choice of jerky, bubblegum, or breath-fresheners. Why hadn't she remembered to bring her wallet?

Just as she was contemplating a fight with the refrigerator slime for the least ancient leftovers, a small pig-tailed whirlwind raced into the room. Upon skating into the kitchen, however, the red-head stopped up short. There was the new kid… what's her name? Oh, yeah! Cassidy. It was the most awesome thing in the world to have another kid on the base, and she was kind of annoyed with the guys for not waking her up when the teenager had unexpectedly arrived. Well… granted, the other girl wasn't really a kid, she was a teenager. Still, she'd take what she could get!

Since she was still unobserved, Sari studied the brunet closely. Frazzled green streaked hair that looked like it had been hit by a Weed-Wacker stood up on the seventeen year old girl's head in a way that had to be accidental. At least… she hoped it wasn't deliberate. The biggest surprise were the jeans. Gazing at those ripped up monstrosities, the nine-year old made a face. Pants were no longer 'in,' dresses were! All five of the fashion magazines she subscribed to said so. Yet, as she stared at the girl in front of her, she got the distinct impression that this particular teenager didn't care.

Abruptly realizing that the person in question was staring at her like a zombie, she pasted on a fake grin. "Hi," she chirped, skating back a few feet. "I'm Sari!" No reply, except for a silent blink. "I- I mean Sarita! My dad wanted me to have a name that fits in here as well as in India, and Sarita is another version of Sarah and means 'sacred' in Hindi, and shutting up now." Sari stuttered to a halt, panting slightly and feeling acutely embarrassed. The teenager blinked again, before slowly turning away again.

"Great," Sari fumed to herself in Hindi, as she skated up to the vending machine on the other side of the room. "Only ten minutes into the conversation, and I've already made a bad impression. This is all Dad's fault. If he'd just let me go to school like a normal kid, I wouldn't sound like such a dork! But nooo, it's too dangerous, Sari. Snort! Yeah, right! Instead, I had to be taught by the stupid Tutor-Bot." Slamming her key (which was a strange blend of alien and human technology) into the slot, she viciously twisted it. Instantly, food poured out of the device almost bowling her over.

In the middle of the twenty-second century, life was pretty much the same. People still drove cars, they enjoyed reading books, and they continued to stare at the television set every evening. There were only two key differences. One: androids had been invented, or as her dad preferred to call them, Automatons. They picked up garbage, sold products on the street corners, and did basic chores for whoever had the cash to buy them. Unfortunately, they were also purchased by the well to do as private tutors. Since her dad was one of the richest millionaires in America, a leading inventor of androids, and residing in the robotics capital of the world, he had to have one. She grimaced, knowing she was more used to the little silver humanoid robots than she was to people!

The other major change on the world scene, was that the aliens had landed. There were moments when Sari had a hard time believing it. It sounded like something out of a comic book or an action movie, but it was true. In fact, now that her dad had mysteriously vanished during the last major battle, she was living with them. She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she almost missed the other girls answer.

"Morning," the brunet mumbled, resting her aching head against the cool plaster wall. The insanely bright light had given her a headache that only coffee could cure. 'Note to self,' Cass silently moaned to herself. 'Invest in sunglasses.' Most of the scrawny red-headed kid's words had washed by without being understood, but Cass had gotten the gist and replied in kind. Now she stared at the coffee-maker with a single minded intensity that most teenagers devoted to their cell-phones. 'I could find the electric panel. Then I could turn every single light in this place off with the flick a switch. Hey, it's a worthwhile goal! And if anybody tries to turn it back on, I'll punch them in the nose!' Indulging in her newly invented violent fantasy, it took her a moment to realize that the younger kid was talking to her again. Peering back blearily, she inquired, "What?"

"Yeesh! You don't listen very often, do you," Sari complained, her hands on her hips. Then she switched gears. "So, as I was saying, Bumblebee has this really cool video game system. We're in the middle of this competition with cave creatures… and you're welcome to join in…" She trailed off at the glazed over expression on her companion's face. "Riiight, so I'll just let you get back to your own thing."

Recognizing the flood of words surrounding her, but not really comprehending their meaning, Cassidy blinked sleepily. It briefly occurred to her that it was awfully weird to encounter another human at alien central, even if she did seem familiar. This thought, like so many others, flitted away like fireflies around a campfire. One word was overwhelming her thoughts with growing insistence: COFFEE. With a sense of timing that was akin to magic, the coffeemaker went off. She dove on the life-giving substance like a starving woman. The red-head wrinkled her nose at the teenager's behavior, before deciding to ignore her. If she wanted to be rude, then it was her loss!

"Mmph, oh, thank God," Cassidy mumbled, surrounded in coffee fumes. Her mouth had been scalded, but at least her brain was functioning again. She needed breakfast, or something close to it. And since she didn't want anything the vending machine had to offer, she needed to go shopping. This required escaping the warehouse, figuring out where she was in relation to the surrounding city, and locating the nearest corner store. Glancing outside at a room that rivaled the size of your average amusement park, she tried to guess where the exit might be. Taking another fortifying sip of burning hot java, she began, "Um, Sarita?"

"Huh? Oh, nobody calls me that. It's Sari." The nine-year old paused in the midst of her own plotted escape. If Optimus found out she'd broken the vending machine again, she was going to be in deep trouble. Therefore, the only method of avoiding punishment was vacating the area and destroying the evidence. Hoisting her now full knapsack over her shoulders, she skated to the entryway, noting with relief that Ratchet was still gone. She grinned deviously, not noticing the telltale trail of chocolate bars she was leaving behind through a tear in the satchel. 'No-one will ever know about this,' she grinned, only to abruptly frown as she remembered that there was still one witness… Turning, she eyed the new kid suspiciously. Was Cassidy the kind of girl that would rat her out, or the type that could keep a secret?

A little more awake now, Cass filled another mug. She was well aware of the kid's suspicious expression, not that she cared. As far as the brunet was concerned, she planned to be long gone before the week was out. "Hey, Sari," she began. "Where is the exit to this place? I can't remember where it is."

Looking up from stuffing her face full of chocolate, the younger girl tried to clear her throat. This was a task that she quickly discovered was next to impossible. Instead, Sari vaguely pointed toward the left half of the room and garbled something unintelligible. Then she concentrated on chewing. It was a lot of work erasing a crime, but the red-head was determined to finish the job. Digging into her knap-sack, she handed off a few of the less desirable candies, both to be neighborly, and to pass the blame if she got caught.

At the sticky mass of 'used-to-be-food' that was offered her way, she rolled her eyes. "Um, no thanks…" She was about to ask exactly where in Detroit this place was located, when a squeal of tires on concrete interrupted her. Racing around the corner was a small bright yellow compact car without a driver. Cassidy warily backed off as a huge metal arm grew out of the car door, sprouting claws as it went, and scooped up the giggling red-head. In seconds, with a lot of rapid twisting and flipping around, the rice-rocket was suddenly a huge, armor clad robot with bright glowing electric blue eyes.

Slightly shuddering, Cassidy was struck with not so pleasant memories of when Swindle had done the same thing… twice. Bastard. She firmly refused to acknowledge that one of those times had been catching her from a killer fall off of a six story apartment building. Blinking back to reality, she watched the Cybertronian gently bounce the nine-year old, all while talking a mile a minute. Abruptly, the robot froze and scanned the brunet from head to toe. Her spine stiffened at that familiar skitter of electricity racing along her skin and inwardly grimaced at the abrupt metallic taste of her teeth fillings. Cass had no idea why they kept doing that, she just hated it. "Hey," Bumblebee exclaimed cheerfully. "You must be Cassie! I'm Bumblebee, but everybody calls me 'Bee! Do you like video games, I've got the biggest collection in Detroit. The game shop owner told me so last month when I went to buy Crash-course Two!"

"Woah, wait a minute," the brunet interrupted, "I'd really appreciate it if yah didn't call me 'Cassie.' It's Cassidy, or if yah have to use a nickname, Cass is fine, just no Cassie." The name Cassie brought to mind an adorable little child-star, with curly blond hair, and a pastel pink dress. Ugh! Ever since Cass and Cassie (the boy and girl twin siblings) had hit the movie screens, America had been enthralled. Every family began naming at least one of their kids 'Cassidy' because they were just SO cute. It didn't help that the pair were now just as successful as adults on the acting circuit as they had been as child-stars. Now Cassie was the golden haired darling of Hollywood, and her brother, Cass, or Ceejay as he preferred to be called, was the rock-star heart-throb of MTV.

"Sure thing Cassie," Bumblebee answered without really paying attention, and he was off on another verbal tangent. "Boy, you sure did sleep a long time. Almost as long as that grumpy 'Bot Ratchet! But you're nothing like him, I can tell! So, what are you doing? I just got off duty and can't wait to take over the television for that horror movie marathon coming up in a couple of hours!"

'Ah, hah,' Cass realized with an inward grimace. 'I've found a matched pair. Despite all the odds and all the light-years separating them, two chatterboxes have found each other!' Was there sarcasm present? Why, no! Of course not! Containing her usual early morning ire with a healthy swallow of coffee, she considered the nine year old on the other side of the room. Sari was talking a mile a minute and stuffing candy by the handful into her mouth. Bee was nodding enthusiastically and answering back just as quickly. She also had no clue what they were saying. It sounded vaguely like English, but at this point in the morning, it could have been Martian and she wouldn't know. 'Maybe the kid's just on a constant sugar high and the robot is getting dragged along for the ride? It's possible, right?'

"I was wondering," she interrupted. "Is there supposed to be a monster in the refrigerator? Because, if that's normal, I want out of here." Pausing in the midst of their conversation, the pair gave her an incredulous look. She helplessly shrugged, taking a sip of much needed java. The big yellow robot still didn't look as if he believed her, so she gestured at the refrigerator. "It's a food emporium petting zoo. Don't believe me? Look for yourself."

Rolling his optics, Bumblebee turned and approached the small unassuming white box. He extended one metal claw from a previously blunt fingertip and carefully hooked the refrigerators handle. Not wanting to get within range because she hated getting inoculation shots, Cassidy retreated, tugging Sari with her. Blue light bathed the Autobot's features as he peered inside. "I knew it! There isn't anything in here," Bee declared haughtily after a brief surface scan. "Obviously, someone was trying to trick- gaah!" With sudden fury, a solid black mass of gunk hit his face plates at two-hundred miles an hour. Loosing his balance at the unexpected attack of mold, he fell back on his aft with a screech.

"Bumblebee," Sari shouted in alarm. Proving it's capacity for higher intelligence, it crawled off of it's robotic victim and began oozing and forming tendrils in their direction. Letting out an ear piercing shriek, Sari threw her hands up in the air and began running around in circles. Cass merely glanced around as she looked for something painfully heavy to bludgeon it with. They were saved from death by foodstuffs when a loud electric filled blast hit the living gunk hard enough to leave a crater. Debris, mostly of a wet nature, spattered over everything.

Blinking away the sting of too much bright light in one sitting, Cassidy gradually looked up. A large craggy face squinted disapprovingly into their low cubby hole of a kitchenette. It was the rust colored robot. His glare, if possible, became even nastier as he retracted the electro-blaster back into his arm. "If you younglings are through disturbing what's left of the morning with all this needless panicking," he began with exaggerated politeness. His mocking smile vanished, but the glare remained. "I'd like to get on with my day." Using a low level force-field, he gathered up a fist sized sample of putrid smelling cooked slime. Then, standing up straight, he turned and walked away with steady forceful strides, a moving mountain.

Pausing in the midst of spitting out another gob of fried attack mold, Bumblebee yelled, "But Ratchet, what about me?"

"You three can clean up the organic's kitchen," Ratchet replied without looking back. "After all, you did used to clear debris off of space bridges. Now leave me alone!" The base shuddered as the automatic doors closed, making everyone cringe.

"And that's why yah never complain about a problem," Cass absently informed the Autobot. "Chances are, you'll be assigned to fix it." Gazing around herself at the surrounding mess of stench ridden hot slime, the brunet sighed. Ignoring the yellow robot's literal dirty look, she made her way back to the snack machine and pouted. It looked even more unappetizing than before… maybe because of the infestation of sentient slime crawling around the chocolate-nut bars. "Is this all there is to eat around here?"

Hopping over steaming scum puddles, Sari came to stand by her side. Together, the pair watched the wriggling black tentacle under glass with a sort of mesmerized fascination. "We usually just go off to Burger-Bot and get food there," she absently replied, her big brown eyes slowly tracking the creatures movements.

"Hey, I know what we could do," Bumblebee exclaimed loudly enough to make every organic in the room flinch… Yes, even the slime creature. He dropped the towel sized cleaning rag that he'd been half-heartedly using to clean up a tiny patch of black gunk on the floor. His vocals dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the yellow Autobot continued, "Let's go to Burger-Bot!"

"All right," Sari squealed in a typical little kid fashion, doing a celebration dance around patches of cooked mold. Bumblebee transformed into a small yellow car and Sari leaped into his driver's seat without any hesitation. That's when they looked at Cassidy. She stood there, coffee mug in hand, and a distrustful look on her face. The nine year old blinked in confusion before glancing down at an equally mystified lit dashboard. "Well, come on," the red-head at last prompted.

"Yeah," Bee agreed. "I don't mind if you sit shotgun." To their surprise, the seventeen year old took a broad step back at that announcement.

Cassidy was experiencing a dilemma. She was hungry, but was she hungry enough to do that? Eying the vehicle in front of her, she was again reminded of car seats that bunched and flexed like muscles, and seatbelts that writhed and slapped. Swindle had not been a kind host. Besides, the concept of sitting 'inside' of another being was more than a little disgusting. Then there was the location they were heading toward…. At the thought of being subjected to another one of those greasy, flavorless, calorie laden burgers, she felt her stomach turn. Clutching her coffee mug, she at last blurted out, "I'd rather not."

"Aw, come on," the yellow car whined. "I'll bet you're hungry. We could go out and be back before Ratchet even realizes it."

"Please," Sari pleaded giving her big puppy eyes.

Hesitantly, Cass began, "Well, I am hungry…" She watched both car and human brighten at the thought that she was caving in, before she dropped the clincher. "But I'm not hungry for Burger-Bot meals."

"Whaaat," Sari wailed as if she'd just said something blasphemous. "Why not?" Even the car looked mystified now. What was wrong with going to Burger-Bot? It had robots! That alone was enough of a selling point for her.

"Because I got to have that three meals a day, if I was lucky, while I was a 'guest' of Swindle's," Cassidy solemnly informed them. Every argument the car and rider were gearing up to unleash left them at that exact moment. She gave them a moment longer to contemplate that grim reminder of her introduction to the Cybertronian species, before continuing. "Beyond that," Cass shrugged. "The grocery store?"

"What's that," Bumblebee asked in clueless wonder.

"Eww! I don't want to go there," the nine year old complained. "They've got vegetables all over the place!"

"Well, where Sari doesn't want to go, I don't either," the robot turned compact car exclaimed. He straighten up, somehow appeared taller, much to Cassidy's disbelief. She quirked an eyebrow, before smirking.

"Sari," the brunet casually began. "Do you like pancakes?"

Deep brown eyes widened and a hopeful look flashed for a brief instant across the pig-tailed girl's face. Then her resolve hardened. Shaking her head stubbornly, she looked away saying, "Nope!"

"That's too bad," Cass answered. "Because I was planning on cooking some. And of course, I'd buy syrup to drizzle over the top, and orange juice to drink alongside it…" By now, she had the rapt attention of every hyper active brain cell in Sari's head. "Oh, well. Sigh… I guess I'll eat a candy-bar instead."

"Wait," Sari yelped.

"Don't listen to her, Sari," the sentient car warned with a low engine growl. "She's trying to trick us into working." He jerked back on his wheels in surprise when he realized Cassidy was suddenly at his side.

"Bumbles, wouldn't yah love to be able to make a meal for the kid with a minimum of effort?" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Yah wouldn't even have to pause your video-game." The brunet grinned when the small yellow 'Bot's threatening engine growl became a hesitant purr. As she watched the pair fall into a contemplative silence, Cass smugly mused, 'This is just way too easy.'

Glancing down at her massive robotic friend's dashboard, the red-head contemplated this new plan. Bumblebee's lights twinkled softly back. Finally, the yellow Autobot answered for both of them. "Okay, you've convinced us," he hesitantly agreed. "We'll visit this 'Gross-airy' store, but if we don't like it, we're taking off!" Sari, her arms crossed over her yellow go-go dress, nodded once in firm agreement with this pronouncement.

Cass quirked a genuine half smile at the pair. "Fair enough," she agreed. "Well, let's go." With that, she turned and began a casual walk back toward her room.

"Um, Cassidy," Sari began with a hesitant query. "Hellooo? The exit's that way? And Bumblebee is right over here?"

"Exactly," the car cheerfully agreed as he popped open a door on his passenger side. "Don't you want a ride, Cassie? I can get us there a whole lot faster than anything you can do!"

Grimacing at the repetition of that most hated nickname, she reflected, 'Oh, yeah, he's humble.' Turning around, she schooled her features into the bland pleasant expression she reserved for hated teachers and school bullies… right before she'd prank them into oblivion. "Bumble's," she began. "After being trapped in a car for seventy-eight hours straight, I can most definitely tell yah, no way! Besides, I need my wallet, and I can easily get to the nearest market on foot. Bet I beat yah to the store with time to spare, too."

"Hah, don't make me laugh," the yellow Autobot sneered. He transformed, transferring his human charge to his shoulder plates with ease, before following after her. You organics move slower than fifteen year old motor oil! What are you going to do? Fly?"

"As if," the brunet drawled, continuing her casual escape from the warehouse that never ends and praying for a cloudy day. Her eyes were killing her. "It just so happens, I'm an expert on this town. I know every shortcut Detroit owns."

"Guys," Sari whined pitifully. "Does it matter how we get there? I'm getting hungry!" No-one listened as the argument continued all the way to Cassidy's room, then on out the door. It became even more heated at the crosswalk while they waited for the signal to change, and turned violent when Bumblebee grabbed Cass and attempted to carry her. None of them noticed the small yellow taxi-cab patiently waiting for the trio to cross. Neither did they happen to realize that there was a very similar little yellow vehicle parked in the grocery store parking lot while they shopped. And they most certainly didn't even look sideways at that familiar car that was parked in a convenient alleyway nearby the base. How could they? They were too busy being lectured about responsibility by Prowl, who had finally caught up with them and was escorting the unfortunate trio back to base. Not until the door had closed, did the driverless cab turn over it's engine and coast away.

_In an undisclosed location of the city…_

Within the dark recesses of a long abandoned warehouse, a bright light crackled. Swindle shut off his welder and paused a moment to assess his work. It was tiny, positively miniscule in his massive metal servos. Obviously, it was more suited for an organic creature. He held the device up even as he boosted the glow to his purple optics. It was a fancy gold wrist-watch, polished to a fine gleam. Reaching out a long sharp claw, he carefully tapped the buttons until it displayed the time: 12:46 AM.

He had observed Cassidy for a week now. During that time, the Decepticon had come to the conclusion that she had to be the most well guarded organic in history. An exasperated sigh gusted through his vents. In order to pull off his next business deal, he needed an organic that was familiar with his own kind, and preferably also living with them. One had been discounted immediately. That fleshling was the personal 'pet' of Megatron, and if there was anything that old warlord hated, it was one of his possessions getting stolen. Luckily, there were two other options living with the Autobots, a small hyper fleshling named Sarita 'Sari' Sumdac, and his former associate Cassidy Jane Nulte.

At last setting aside his invention, the sales-mech lifted his arms in a long luxurious stretch. Swindle was small by Cybertronian standards, with a yellow and black checkered paint job decorating his armor. The word 'Taxi' stood out in bold relief like a tattoo upon both shoulders. He really had to change his alt-mode again.

A heated sigh huffed out of his vents as his stiffened joints finally found relief after nine hours of grueling microscopic work. Unfortunately, Plan A was scrapped. Swindle couldn't just snatch either femme off the street like he wanted to. That left the second option. With a brilliant flicker, his purple cat-like optics opened and peered into the darkness. There was a shuffle of movement, followed by hesitant steps, until a small organic stepped into the dim light. He was young, perhaps only seventeen at the oldest, wearing a rumpled zoot-suit and patent leather shoes. Bending down, the teenager carefully picked up the wristwatch from the dusty ground, latched it on, and gave the robot in front of him an appraising look. After polishing a pair of stylish sunglasses, he slipped them on, and smirked.


	2. Chapter 2

Counterfeit

Chapter 2: Clean Slate

By: Mooncrossed

_I apologize for the late update. A combination of family issues, the holidays, and a massive computer glitch are responsible for this chapter not getting out on time. I'll try to stay on schedule in the future. Many thanks go out to Writergurl616 for her review (Yeah, Swindle is sort of predictable that way. Glad you're enjoying the story), kitty1994 (Wow! You had that kind of reaction? Thanks), Pumpkin Guardian (Grins. Yep, Bumblebee can be quite the chatterbox. Thanks for the compliment), Hawkgirl230 (Thanks! It's great that Swindle has another fan), and to 16 Silvermoon 16 (I'm trying. Keeping my fingers crossed that this chapter will go through.) _

_I don't own Transformers, Mega-Coco-Bomb Cereal (Just in case it exists), The Princess Bride, Romeo and Juliet, Shiny Colors (In case that play also exists), Ninja Turtles, Pink Panther, Star Wars, or Paul Bunyan. All the characters in this story are fictional. None of the Transformers based characters belong to me, however, I do own Cassidy and her various friends and acquaintances. Please ask permission before using them. This chapter was incredibly hard to type, but, with a lot of prayer and my parents editing, it is finally ready. _

_In the Autobot base…_

Venting out a harsh sigh, Optimus at last sat back. His spinal struts ached in protest at the movement and he longed for his old comfortable adamantium chair from back home. Now that was luxury! This seat was made up out of a mixture of concrete and steel, the cheapest and most durable products they could find on this world. Looking down at the monthly report resting on his desk, he debated on what to add next. Agent Simmons had requested that he compile a rough outline concerning how well Cassidy was adjusting to living on the base with them… He just hadn't expected her to get dragged into his office on the very first orn.

Sari and Bumblebee, those two were in trouble often enough that he'd barely raised an optic ridge when they were escorted into his office. The fact that Cassidy had arrived right after them had been a shock to his CPU. Nonetheless, he had done his best to admonish the trio on responsibility. What if a Decepticon had attacked? They could have left the remains of a space barnacle infestation in the base. Irresponsible! In return, Bumblebee had whined, Sari had given him a sad eyed expression of pleading, and Cassidy… She just impatiently stood there with a pair of paper sacks crowding her arms. Her lack of expression, emphasized by her oversized sunglasses gave her a creepy, almost spark-less quality. When he had inquired what it was she was holding, she had called them groceries, whatever those were. He made an addendum to look up the strange foreign word later.

The Prime tried to remind himself that she had been through a lot, first by getting kidnapped by a Decepticon, then when she was held hostage for three days. An experience like that would inspire a level of distrust in anyone, let alone a youngling. Making a vow that he would try to show her the positive side of his species, he studied the report again. Then a slight smile quirked up. At least Bumblebee was making some headway at befriending her…

_At that exact moment…_

After engaging in a fierce haggling contest with Bumblebee in which she managed to exact the promise that not only would he clean the mini-fridge, but he would also build a temporary human sized kitchen table, Cass set to work. The top and front of the old electric stove was covered in fried attack mold! Grumbling to herself, she began scrubbing. Trying to keep a positive attitude, Cassidy reflected, 'At least I remembered to get sunglasses.' Pushing them further up her nose to guard her eyes from the insanely bright florescent lights, she resolutely continued to clean. Sari tackled the filth encrusted floor with an old mop.

Once the stove and surrounding countertops were slime free, she set her brand new cast iron skillet down and turned on the electric stove. Considering the state of this kitchen, she'd decided to go with the bare essentials. Plastic measuring cups (the cheapest of course), one mixing spoon, a spatula, some throw away plastic eating utensils (again, the lowest price), and one mixing bowl. Five cans of condensed soup rested on the counter, the best solution to a budget meal that she could find.

Getting out the proper amount of pancake mix and cracking the required amount of eggs, Cass then added the milk… which was warm from being out too long. Ugh! Vice Principle Martinez gave longwinded speeches were nothing compared to the robot in charge of the base. Telling herself to buy powdered milk from now on, the brunet began stirring together the ingredients… only to pause. Was it just her, or had something let out a metallic groan? Cassidy glanced at the big yellow Autobot currently trying to piece together a table using piles of concrete blocks and cardboard. Since he was talking to himself, Cass decided that he must have been the one that had groaned. Turning, the teen began ladling out the pancakes so they could start frying. Another groan sounded. She flinched at the noise and looked around. Neither Bumblebee, nor Sari had seemed to notice it. "Weird," she mumbled, even as she flipped the more cooked ones over. No-one noticed how the vending machine had now moved three inches closer to the trio.

Now Sari was arguing that cardboard wouldn't be strong enough for a tabletop. Bumblebee argued that his table was perfect, they just had to be careful. Feeling another headache coming on as their voices reached an angry crescendo, Cassidy pushed her sunglasses back up her nose. Sweat beaded her forehead as she concentrated on cooking. 'Maybe the kid will quiet down if her mouth is full,' the brunet hopefully speculated. 'Hey, it's a goal! Then, all I have to do is figure out something that will shut up the motor mouth…' Unknown to any of them, the vending machine had moved even closer, and blackened tentacles had begun to writhe around the edges. "Bumbles," she interrupted loudly. (And she'd quit calling him that when he stopped calling her 'Cassie.') Ignoring his annoyed look, she continued, "Why don't yah just rip the door off of the room next door? That's sturdy enough."

"I don't need to get anything else, Cassie," Bumblebee insisted, while glaring at her for calling him by that oh-so-hated nickname, yet again. _And why does she keep doing that, _the Autobot wondered. _Probably because her memory is faulty. I'll just remind her more often. _He placed a disposable plate on it's cardboard surface proudly. "This is good enough for an organic's table. Why, nothing could possibly destroy this-" That's when a rampaging snack food dispenser launched itself with crater inducing force right into the middle of the table with a metallic roar. Concrete blocks and plastic tableware flew into the air, tentacles writhed wildly, and Sari screamed high enough to make ears bleed. Bee's cardboard furniture didn't stand a chance.

As intelligence levels went, the space barnacle was around the lower end of the spectrum. It's main thoughts, if one could call them that, were, "See food," and, "Eat food." Meals consisted of organics (a somewhat mushy treat), and any machinery it could reasonably attach itself to (great minerals and a healthy source of energy.) This was the way it and billions of it's ancestors had operated for centuries. They had even developed a kind of borrowed method of locomotion from their mechanical prey, controlling their movements and using their sensors to hunt for more victims. Except, now it was confused. What limited information this machine was transmitting said that there was a big bulk of possible victims over here… Yet all it's dirt encrusted tentacles could find were rocks. The zombie operated vending machine fumbled around in an awkward sort of way. Rocks, bits of cardboard, more rocks… FIRE! With a keening screech, it flipped over on it's side and writhed in sudden agony.

"See, Cass? I've got everything handled," Bumblebee boasted. Hefting his makeshift torch, Bumblebee grinned proudly. The demolished remains of a kitchen cabinet gave a silent testament as to where he had gotten the wood to make his weapon. Casually turning off the still lit stovetop burner, Cassidy rolled her eyes. Both girls eyed the writhing alien on the floor and tried to stay as far away from it as they could. "Even space barnacles are no match for me," he continued snootily. "From now on, you can just call me Mr. Resourceful!"

Abruptly screeching, the vending machine sprang back to life. Bumblebee yelled in terror and dove for cover. Hopping up on it's multiple tentacles, the snack food dispenser rose to it's full majestic height of five and a half feet, and took off out of the kitchen. Dead silence filled the room. Cassidy cautiously uncurled from the hunched over protective stance she had fallen into, noting with relief that Sari seemed to be okay. The nine year old was in a similar stance, her hands over the back of her neck and her knees curled up into her chest. 'Bee blinked from behind the refrigerator he was using as a shield. As one, the three of them slowly approached the brightly lit entrance.

First, Bumblebee crept out with his flaming piece of cabinetry, then Cassidy stepped after him with a length of smoldering cardboard, and finally Sari followed with a singed paper plate. The three warily looked around. A Cybertronian sized giant concrete couch, an equally humongous coffee table of the same material, a large plasma television, and an old assembly plant conveyer belt was all that could be seen. Silence weighed heavily on the room. His optics bright with worry, 'Bee raced up to the nearest hallway and peered down the corridor. Not finding any vending machines, he sped up to the next cavernous doorway, and the next, and the next. He slumped as his final scan came up empty and slowly trudged back to the two humans. After a long moment, the Autobot shrugged and offered an embarrassed grin. Sheepishly, he shrugged and mumbled, "Oops."

Two hours later, Cassidy decided to drop the matter. So what if a possessed vending machine was wandering the empty corridors of the Autobot base. The chances of running into it again in a building this large were in the trillions, right? Yeah… Cassidy puzzled over the oddities in her life and reaffirmed her vow to be out of alien central before the week was out. Right now, she had other things to occupy her time.

Staring at the instructions for the thousandth time, Cass was unknowingly doing her best chimpanzee impression. She couldn't help it. Before her loomed a simple unassuming clothes washer, it's boxlike form menacingly waiting. Right next to her was a pile of unwashed laundry that was almost as big as she was, not that it was saying much. Cassidy sighed, wishing she was a few inches taller, before she sighed and tried to ignore it. 'Okay, I've already added the soap, I've got the first load in there, so how do I turn it on?' Focusing back on the dial, she nibbled her lower lip and stared at the unassuming machine resting comfortably in front of her. Could anyone blame her? The last time she'd used one of these things, the basement had flooded with boiling hot water. And the time before that, it had belched bubbles for three hours before at last expiring with a pathetic groan, never to work again.

"Maybe I could use the old-fashioned washboard technique," she mumbled thoughtfully. Glancing sideways at the mound of unwashed garments, she grimaced. "Nah, too torturous." At last, wincing in anticipation, the brunet reached out and turned one knob until it was set on cold. Hoping she was doing it right, she rotated the other dial and pulled. Water obediently began pouring into the tub. "Yes," she congratulated herself with a wicked grin. "Now all I have to do is… Uh, oh…"

Swallowing hard, she looked at the broken knob in her hand. The blunt piece of metal it had been attached to gleamed in forlorn abandonment in front of her. Hastily fumbling, she attempting to reattach it before anyone noticed it's absence only to cringe at an abrupt scalding splash. Cassidy looked down into the churning froth filled water in front of her. Somewhere in that roiling mass of clothes was a washing-machine dial… and hadn't she put it on 'Cold' instead of 'Hot?' Cautiously closing the awakening beast's lid, she carefully backed away before running as fast as her sneakers could carry her. It might turn out okay, but just in case the whole freaking mess decided to explode, she wanted to be as far away from the epicenter as possible!

_Meanwhile…_

Deep beneath the Autobot base, an excavation was underway. Service drones walked here and there carrying equipment, earth was scooped up in massive claws and removed, while others laid concrete over finished work. Surveying the operation per Megatron's orders, Soundwave stood stoically silent. He was taller than the average Decepticon with a face that rarely showed the slightest hint of emotion. In fact, rumor had it that he was spark-less. "Mission log," he droned while gazing around the blackened room, "Operation is on schedule… Workers: obedient…" Looking up at the ceiling toward Optimus Prime's base of operations, he accessed the cameras he'd hidden within. Immediate images of Autobots sleeping, working, meditating and watching television flashed past his optics. "Autobots: Unaware."

Closing off his data record, he resumed his observations, only to stop. A small drop of water landed upon the dusty earth, then another, and still more. Analyzing the liquid, he concluded that it was a mixture of H2O, lime, and trace elements of chemical deposits in the soil, before focusing upwards once more. Hundreds of rooms yet again flashed before his visor, most of them empty. He zeroed in on one in particular and magnified the image. In a far off corner was a small organically constructed machine, and it appeared to be malfunctioning, judging by the water streaming unchecked from it's box-like form. Further investigation proved that it was completely unattended. At the questioning glances he was receiving from some of the slightly more sentient workers, he commanded, "Continue."

_In other news…_

"Oh, my God," Sari exclaimed, slamming into Cassidy's bedroom at breakneck speed. The red-head barely screeched to a halt before she could collide with a pile of cardboard boxes. "Woah, those weren't there before!" Focusing on the girl she'd come to visit, she grinned and skated over to her. It was just so cool to have another kid on the base. She could be just like an older sister to her. They could do all sorts of sisterly activities, like play board games, and stay up until three in the morning, and talk about boys… Blinking in surprise, she watched the older girl remove a broadsword from her duffle-bag and place it next to her throwing-knife set. 'Okay,' she mused, 'So, maybe not so much with the girly gossip, but we could still hang out.' Attempting to warm up to her, she chirped, "So, whatcha doing?"

"Unpacking," Cassidy replied, not even bothering to glance up. Aside from her initial jump at the intrusion of the nine year old hurricane, the teenager remained as cool as a cucumber. She had a tough reputation to maintain, after all. Sneakily, she pulled the blanket up over a snoozing pair of alien house-pets. Don't get her wrong, the kid would probably get along great with the fruppy and the living dress… she just wasn't so sure about the big metal behemoths wandering around the base. So, until she was certain about their safety, she was keeping them out of sight. Hoisting out her Biology book, the heaviest burden in her academic career, she proceeded to flip through it carefully. It would be just like those government geeks to put a spy-device in there and make it even heavier. Simmons would have probably deliberately done it, hoping it would give her a hernia. Glancing over at the nine-year old invader and noticing the brown stains all over her cloths, she commented, "Yah had candy bars for breakfast again, didn't yah?"

"No," Sari protested defensively. Practically vibrating on her roller blades, she tap danced from one wheeled foot to the other as she looked here, there, and everywhere. "I had Mega-Coco-Bomb cereal, it's not the same thing! This place is boring! Where I can I find some purple paint? Do you like cheese? How old are you, again? Can I help you unpack?"

"Knock yourself out," Cassidy replied to the question on the end of that litany, deciding to ignore all the others. She doubted the kid remembered asking them, anyway. Sighing, she at last set the book aside, resolving to look at it later. Then she scooped out the next layer of belongings. It was paper, all rolled up into individual tubes and stacked neatly side by side. Selecting one tube and some thumbtacks, the brunet wandered over to the nearest wall. As the picture unfurled, Sari caught her breath in amazement. Reminiscent of a fancy stained glass window, the image of a gorgeous medieval princess in the arms of a handsome pirate became visible. 'The Princess Bride,' was written in flowing old-fashioned script. In smaller letters down below were the words, 'A Detroit High School Production.'

"Cool," Sari breathed, overcome with girlish wonder. Eagerly, she gazed down at the rest of the rolled up play-bills like a kid confronting a pile of Christmas presents. She hesitated for an instant, worried she might be overstepping her bounds by snooping. Then she shrugged it off. 'Well,' the nine year old mused. 'Cass didn't say I shouldn't look, and that's the same as saying yes. Besides, it's helping.' Reaching out, she unfastened the nearest poster and carefully pealed it open. "Woah, did you act in this?"

On a return trip to retrieve another playbill, Cassidy glanced over her shoulder. The picture was a color photograph image of a reclining blond in a flowing dress. Kneeling reverently before her was a handsome young man in a suit of armor. 'Romeo and Juliet,' the poster proudly announced. "No, thank God," Cassidy drawled, rolling her eyes. Noting the Coco Bomb cereal stained handprints being smeared across the image by sticky little kid fingers, but not caring, the brunet headed in a new direction with her next picture. "For you're information, I hate that play. Mercutio was the only good character, and he got kacked in the first half. All I had to do were props and lighting."

"Huh," Sari commented noncommittally, having already forgotten what they'd been talking about. Abandoning the Shakespeare play, she reached for the next roll of paper. "What did you play in the Princess Bride?"

"One of the RUS's," she absently answered. That had been an embarrassing fiasco. At first, she'd been cast as the lead character, not that it had lasted long. Something about her portraying the character 'Buttercup' too aggressively. Instead, it was decided that her small size and 'high energy' made her perfect for playing an RUS (Rodent of unusual size), in other words, an evil giant rat. Cass mentally shrugged before stepping back to consider her work. The latest poster she'd put up was pitch black from top to bottom with color swirls and blinding spotlight images like one would see from up close headlights. Written in little kid simple white chalk, the words "Shiny Colors" was doodled across the page. That had been a fun play to write. It had been about a group of kids suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder, and the audience got to see it all from their point of view.

Sari's nose wrinkled as she tried to imagine Cassidy in a giant rat costume, then she gave up. Imagining it was just too weird. Selecting the next image in the pile, she carefully began to unroll it and her mouth dropped open. A beautiful girl in tattered finery danced in the moonlight amidst ancient castle ruins. Intrigued, she peeled back the rest of the image, only to squeak in fright. The poster toppled back to the bed out of her listless fingers. Her heart pounding, she picked up the tube again and looked at it. Surrounding the dancing girl in macabre glee were zombies, werewolves, ghosts, and fanged ghouls. With frightful pride, the words 'High Spirits' were scrawled across the bottom. Feeling disgusted, she inquired, "What were you in this?"

"What?" Cass glanced back after hanging up her fourth poster. She was making good time, and for once, she would be able to display all of her playbills simultaneously. It seemed that having a huge empty warehouse for a bedroom was going to come in handy, after all. So far, she had last years 'Pink Panther' theatre advertisement, and this year's spring production 'Star War's: the musical.' Looking back at the bossy nine year old blankly, it took her a moment to recognize the poster she was pointing at. "Oh, that's the horror-comedy we put on last autumn. Iris and I found this really hokey movie from about seventy years ago and decided to adapt it for the stage. I'm the third zombie on the bottom left-hand corner. The one holding a severed leg." Coming back to the bed turned desk, she scooped up another ten or so rolls and several dozen tacks, then returned to her decorating.

"Um, no offense," Sari began, "But I've had to deal with enough zombies to last a lifetime." Putting down the 'funny' poster, Sari turned to less disgusting pursuits, like snooping. The redhead carefully unrolled the leather bundle Cassidy had set aside. Her dark eyes widening with surprise. They were knives, rows and rows of them, each one polished to a high gleam and graded by color as to how sharp they were. After a moment of shocked silence, a smile spread across her face. "Cool… Hey, Cass, could you teach me how to use these?"

"Use what?" In the middle of hanging a poster that was nearly as tall as she was, it took the brunet a moment to see what Sari was talking about. When she did, her eyebrows climbed up her forehead in disbelief. "You're serious? Most people tend to freak out when they see my throwing-knife set." She scowled as one stubborn corner of the poster flopped down over her head like a loose curtain, the tack clinking to the ground next to her. Scooping it up, she turned to confront the disobedient playbill, which advertised a stage production of 'Ninja Turtles.' Carefully flattening the image out, she estimated the distance and performed a basketball jump. The tack slammed home into the plaster and she grinned. That had been a fun play to put on, she was 'Evil Henchman number five.'

She would have said more if a voice hadn't bellowed loudly enough to topple over a few boxes with one word… (Well, it was a name, actually.) "SARI!" Both the brunet and the redhead flinched at the voice that sounded like a bad phone connection amplified a thousand times higher than normal. Blinking away tears at the sonic abuse, Cassidy remembered yet again, that she really needed to get earplugs.

Looking a combination of worried and annoyed, the girl in question skated over to the doorway. "WHAT," Sari shrieked back, equally loudly. She gave an apologetic glance back at the teenager clutching her ears in a state of agony. Just for good measure, she added in a lower voice, "And whatever it is, I didn't do it." The red-headed girl swallowed hard when she was confronted with a pair of robotic feet that rivaled Paul Bunyan's. Crossing her arms, she scowled up at the Cybertronian that owned them.

Optimus Prime didn't look in any way perturbed by Sari's attitude. In fact, he looked downright annoyed. He did notice how the new organic was rubbing her ears with an unmistakable pained expression, though. A sigh heaved out of his vents, and kneeling down until he was at eye level with the small pig-tailed girl, he addressed the child with a softer voice. "Sari, there is a huge mess out there, and all the evidence points to you," the leader of the Autobot contingent explained. "Now, I'm only going to ask this once: What did you do to the washing machine?"

Cass stiffened. She realized that there was the very faint, yet unmistakable, gurgling sound of water coming from outside her room. Biting her lip in indecision, the brunet debated over going to investigate… or finding a deep hole to hide in until this all blew over. On one hand, if Swindle's ideas of punishment were anything to go by for his entire species, she was in for an embarrassingly painful ordeal if they found out. 'Not that I can't take it,' the teenager scoffed to herself. As kidnappers went, the huckster was a complete joke. It almost embarrassed her that it had taken her so long to escape his, snicker, "EVIL" clutches. 'Yeah right, stick to the sale's floor buddy and stay out of my life.' Of course, if she didn't speak up about the washing machine, Sari would take the blame. Decisions, decisions. The pair didn't seem to notice as she quietly slipped out of the warehouse sized room with an expression of dread on her features.

Meanwhile, Sari's expression became even stormier. "I didn't use my key on the washing machine," she declared, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at Optimus. The key in question was an odd, almost ornamental device hanging like a necklace around her neck. It used to be a simple computer key card, until the All-spark, an almost mystical Cybertronian holy object, zapped it. Looking like a weird combination of skeleton key and computer chip, it could repair or malfunction machinery like a charm. She brightened as a new idea came to her. "Maybe it broke on it's own? Then I could use my key to repair it…"

"It's not a toy," Optimus reiterated for what felt like the thousandth time. _Actually, it was only the fifty-fourth repetition of the rule, _he thought, before shaking his head. Obviously, he was hanging around Prowl a little too much. Deepening his optics to a special shade of midnight blue in honest concern, he continued, "I just might have to take it away from you again if you can't use it responsibly." At her whining complaint, he was about to continue with a speech about the expectations of adulthood, what a proper member of the team was supposed to do… But someone interrupted him.

"Not again," Cassidy yelled distantly from the rec-room, sounding frustrated and alarmed. Hearing this, Optimus straightened, instantly battle ready. Standing up straight, he turned and raced out the door after the sound with Sari hot on his robotic heals. The sight he came across, however, was not what he expected. Belching out bubbles and shuddering violently, the washing machine was severely malfunctioning. This, while distressing, was something Optimus already knew about. Unfortunately, it was also now launching clothing. Shirts littered the floor and nearby walls, organic undergarments stuck to the distant ceiling and concrete furniture. A miniscule pair of human pants flew through the air and smacked wetly against his metal faceplates with a soapy smack.

Cassidy was doing her level best to fight this unexpected mechanical monster, wading her way through waist high soap suds and waving a broom around wildly every time it fired off another round. Sari blinked in wide eyed amazement, having never seen anything so… "Cool," she said out loud, a wide smile slowly growing over her dusky features.

"Hardly," Optimus drawled, having heard her even over the excess noise. Slowly, he peeled the blue denim garment off of his olfactory sensor. The perfect soapy imprint of a human-sized pair of jeans remained behind, with either pants leg outstretched above his mouth. He now appeared to have a white mustache. Raising his vocals, he tried to reason with chaos. "Cassidy, leave it alone! We'll handle it, so just…"

"Hey, I know what to do," Sari exclaimed, holding her key aloft. She darted into the foam before Optimus could catch her. Unable to see where she went, the Cybertronian let out a guttural Cybertronian curse and quickly switched to infra-red. After a moment to orient himself, he identified what had to be Cassidy, fighting a loosing battle against technology… Sari, reaching out with her All-spark enhanced key for the washing machines control panel… and an overloading primitive circuit board. His optics a bright white in dawning panic, the Autobot leader dove to protectively shield them just as the machine burst apart in a sudden fiery explosion.

For a long moment, silence reigned, broken only by the plop, plop, plop, of dripping soap suds. Slowly, his back coated in thick white soap suds, Prime rose to his full height. Blinking the two girls stood frozen in a state of shock. Cassidy held a broken broom with a rumpled red tee-shirt plastered her head. She blinked, trying to wrap her mind around this change of affairs. Sari, meanwhile, was decorated in enough foam to look like a marshmallow. This was the sight that greeted Bumblebee and Ratchet when they rushed into the rec-room in a state of high alert. Venting hard from the unexpected sprint across the base, the scout and medic stared in disbelieving wonder. The victims looked like nothing less than a trio of snowmen all dressed up for the Christmas season. In surprise, they stared back. Ratchet immediately began scanning for any injuries, all the while shaking his massive head and muttering that at least they were clean.

It was Bumblebee who finally broke the silence. Falling on his aft, his systems seizing up in paroxysms of laughter, he vented long and hard. At last, he gasped out loud, "What the frag?" Bee chortled again, loudly, at the sight of a sock and two pairs of underwear suction fused to the flat-screen television. Then he turned a watery gaze toward his leader and the only two organics living on base. "What happened in here?"

"Mind your language around the younglings," Prowl admonished, emerging from the shadows once he'd thoroughly scanned the surrounding area for intruders. Finding none, he cautiously stepped into the epicenter of the disaster with an expression of polite distaste on his faceplates. "Although, I do find myself wondering about the reason behind this outcome, as well."

Frowning, Optimus remained silent, only taking the time to pry a shredded sweatshirt out of his left elbow joint. Sneezing again, Sari made her unsteady way to the still prone yellow Autobot, and grumpily plopped down on his chassis. After a moment, Cassidy adjusted her somewhat smeared sunglasses and sheepishly explained, "It was a clothing malfunction."

Simultaneously, a certain telepathic Decepticon deep beneath the base decided to close up shop. Soundwave dispassionately observed what should have been a state of the art underground Decepticon spy center. Instead, drones and 'Cons alike were slipping and sliding in the soapy mess of a twelve foot high flood level. Some of the workers were even experiencing malfunctions due to the corrosive mixture of soap, water, and natural chemicals found in the soil. As the telepath experienced a few unexpected error messages himself, he intoned, "Decepticons: retreat." Turning, he left, uncaring if the drones made it safely out of the dripping cavern. The attack against the Autobot contingent on Earth would have to be labeled a failure. Megatron would not be pleased.


	3. Chapter 3

Counterfeit

Chapter 3: Shadow Play

By: Mooncrossed

_Hoo boy, where do I begin? Well, first of all, I hope everyone had a wonderful Valentines Day. A member of my family died recently, so the updates will be a little more sporadic. I'm still writing, though. Again, sorry for the delay. I would like to thank Kitty1994 for her review (thank you, it's great to have such a wonderful fan), to XxshadowfangxX (smiles in thanks. I'll do my best), for writergirl616 (Yep, Cassidy's problem can sometimes be helpful, glad you liked it), to The Pumpkin Guardian (thank you), and Bumblebeecamaro38 (Grins. Yes, she does tend to cause problems. Glad you like it.) I don't own Transformers, Fitness Guru (in case it exists), Land Rover, the Jeep brand, or the moonwalk. This chapter is dedicated to God, without whom I never would have been able to finish writing this. Now, on with the story._

_Somewhere, in Detroit's industrial section…_

"Hey, Pop," Cassidy drawled sleepily into her second new cell-phone this month. Yes, her father had insisted on buying this one as well. Even though it was insanely early on a Sunday morning, she figured her dad could forgive her this once. With crusty, bloodshot eyes, she watched the reason why she was awake at such an ungodly hour: Agent Simmons. He had arrived at dawn with a question and answer session that she HAD to do now! No, she couldn't wait for the coffeemaker, and yes, she had to change out of her pajamas. They were cute pj's, too, covered all over in teddy bears and snowflakes. She shook her head to rid herself of the mental cobwebs. Her father buzzed a half awake reply into the receiver, and she mumbled back, "Yeah, I know what time it is…"

One of the giant alien robots, the yellow one, clanked by with ground shattering thuds. He stared at her in innocent curiosity as he passed by and she grimaced, expecting one of his typical unending chatter sessions. Thankfully, he shut his mouth and moved on without speaking. What was his name, again? It was one of those kinds of names that you'd least expect a giant killer robot to have. Was it Mittens? Fluffy? Ladybug sounded like it might be close, but what if she was wrong? Did she really want to incite the wrath of a three ton alien this early in the morning? She squinted, attempting to kick-start her brain, but it wasn't working. Looked like another sip of coffee was in order. "Nah, Pop," she replied around her favorite mug. "I just wanted to talk to somebody that's sane. Hope it's okay…"

Agent Simmons was regaling Optimus Prime with an endless series of regulations he had to adhere to. Cassidy watched the giant patriotic robot grimace slightly, before attempting to reason with him. 'Hah! Better you than me, buddy,' the brunet mused as she took another sip of precious java. She could hear her father shuffling around on the other end of the line. It was easy to guess what he was up to, and the clink of glassware confirmed it. Her eyes slid shut, imagining the thick aroma of fresh home brewed coffee. There was nothing quite like it anywhere in the world… A sudden harsh jab splashed every last ounce of caffeine out of her mug before she could take another sip.

Finished with his last minute intimidation of the giant aliens, Reuben took a moment to bask in his victory… by annoying the Nulte kid. He smirked at the sleepy wet glare she aimed his way. Oh, he wasn't fooled for an instant as the teenager turned her back on him. She was more than aware of his presence. 'Obviously, it's time to call her bluff,' he mused as he wandered over to a certain unguarded wall mounted coffee maker. 'And I know just how to do it.' Reaching into his briefcase, he took out his favorite travel mug. The size of a water pitcher, it was a truly colossal example of American excess.

At the first splash of liquid java, Cassidy spun around with an enraged squawk… right into the receiver of her new cell phone. She winced at the resulting outraged bellow from her father and hastily apologized for yelling in his ear. Promising to call back, the brunet swiftly hung up. Then it was all business. With hissing outrage and territorial vengeance on her mind, she demanded, "What are you doing?"

Adopting an expression of innocence that only years on the force could perfect, Agent Simmons replied, "Filling my traveling mug, of course. I really need a pick me up for that long drive home." He fought back an evil smirk. "Why do you ask?"

"Because, um…," she fumbled into silence. Staring, Cassidy tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't land her in a prison cell. It was difficult. Her brain was still functioning as sub-light levels and her tongue was currently tied up in silent cuss words. Instead, cell phone in hand, she silently gestured at the giant sized carafe masquerading as a travel mug. With every passing second, ounce after ounce of precious wake-up juice disappeared into that monstrosity of a cup. That was her coffee he was filching! At last, she blurted out, "There's not enough for both of us!"

Unfortunately, someone else had overheard their conversation. Ratchet had just endured the most inane question and answer session that had ever been devised by an alien species, and was eager to see at least one organic out of the picture. His craggy metal features twisting into what could have been described as a smile, he exclaimed, "Why, what a wonderful idea!" Leaning down with a groan of parts, he loomed over the two organics. "Yes! Have as much of the addictive plant substance as you want. Take the entire pitcher, especially if it means you'll leave…"

"But..but…," Cass protested, her head swinging to regard Ratchet and the agent with growing horror. She stuttered into silence at the medic's warning growl. 'That's my coffee,' she wanted to howl at the top of her lungs. Six precious cups of caffeine was all the device could hold, and what was left of her supplies was so low that she couldn't afford to be wasteful with the stuff. Mournfully, she watched the last drop trickle into the open top of the travel mug. The lid snapped closed with an air of permanence. Slowly, it rose as Agent Simmons took a long healthy swig. Gritting her teeth, she listened to him hum in appreciation.

"Well," he announced cheerfully. "Time to leave, and thank you so much for your warm hospitality." He saluted with the full travel mug and grinned at the seventeen-year-old's thunderous expression. Turning, he strolled out of the massive warehouse turned alien base, a spring to his step. Cassidy Jane Nulte had been annoyed, harassed, and pestered, as his superiors had ordered. Seldom had his assignments been so much fun. One eyebrow quirked up in amusement as the lights lining the wide corridor sputtered and winked out. With practiced ease, Reuben popped open his briefcase and located a flashlight. 'Who knows,' he mused silently to himself as he continued walking through the dark. 'When it comes to this kid's temper, I might reach my mission objective early.'

Lifting the giant sized travel mug, he took a sip. A grimace of disgust crossed his features as he exclaimed, "Yick! Where does this kid get her brew from? The bottom of a sewage pump? I've found better java in a condemned restaurant." Making a mental vow to dump his pilfered coffee in the nearest gutter, he left.

_Three hours later…_

"Hey," Sari squealed loudly enough to wake the dead. Skidding to a halt seconds before she could crash into a certain brunet, she continued, "Are you going for a drive? You are, aren't you! Ooh, you're so lucky! Prowl never let's me ride him and then he just turns around and says he's your guardian! It's so unfair! Can I come? Pleeeaase?" This last request was accompanied by her most heartbreaking sad-eyes expression.

"Prowl?" Flinching, Cassidy jerked to a halt and glanced furtively around the room, as if even the mere mention of the robot's name would make him appear out of thin air like a big lunatic genie. Ever since he had announced that he was going to be her guardian, Cassidy had been on edge. She had to be. Three of the four times she had encountered the walking Ginsu Blade advertisement, he had almost killed her. And yet… Since then, he had been a complete no-show on her radar. While she was grateful for this reprieve, it also left her on edge. When was the other shoe going to drop? Noticing the weird look the kid was favoring her with, she quirked up a false smile, and continued, "And who said anything about driving? I've got two healthy legs."

"Those are for operating the gas and brake pedals," Sari drawled, rolling her eyes. It was fairly typical of grown-ups to attempt to trick kids into exercising. She just hadn't expected this sort of behavior in another kid. Cassidy was seventeen, for crying out loud, not eighty. 'Obviously,' the red-head concluded, 'She needs help, and I'm just the girl to do it.' With a false smile of her own, the nine year old shrugged. "That's okay, I'm sure Prowl won't mind. He's probably right down that hall meditating! Hey!" The nine year old abruptly found herself getting dragged away from her self imposed mission of obtaining the coolest ride this side of Detroit by a panicky teenager.

"Do not, under any circumstances, rat me out to the most psychotic alien that I have ever met," Cassidy softly begged, her words becoming clipped and precise as she grew more desperate. At the somewhat surprised, alarmed look that Sari favored her with, the brunet decided to tone things down a little. After a quick glance around to make sure they had still not drawn an audience, she continued. "I just have a few personal chores to take care of. Alright? Boring, everyday, non-robotic chores. Nothing involving any kind of driving…"

"HEY," an electronic voice squawked loudly in surprise. "You're going driving? Without me?" Sitting up abruptly from where he'd been recharging on the giant concrete couch, Bumblebee looked at both girls with an expression like they'd just killed his puppy. Ignoring the way Cassidy groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, the compact car crept closer until his face was inches away from them. "I thought I was your number one 'Bot, Sari. Right?" His optics deepened to a dusky, sorrowful shade of navy-blue and his lower lip trembled with a soft clink of metal on metal.

"Awww, 'Bee," Sari cooed, instantly melting at the expression. "Of course you can drive us. I was only trying to get Prowl so he wouldn't feel left out. That's all." She shuffled one yellow booted foot into the dusty concrete ground. "You'll always be my best friend!" Abruptly dropping the sugary act, she squealed and face hugged the giant robot in a sudden burst of excitement.

At his unexpected passenger, Bumblebee out a startled "Oomph." Scrawny organic arms wrapped around colossal metal cheekbones as tenaciously as a limpet while a small dusky face snuggled against flat nasal plating. Rising to a standing position faster than a rifle shot, Bee's optics widened in panic as gravity insistently tugged him back down. "Woah! Aagh, Sari don't… I'm about to…" Outstretched metal arms waved in a useless search for balance. With the slow majesty of a toppling tree, the yellow mech swayed forward, and then back. Frozen in terror, Cassidy stared up at this encroaching shadow of automotive doom. Oblivious to the possible danger of accidental squishing, Sari planted an affectionate wet kiss between his optics. That did it! Howling in helpless terror, he descended like a collapsing monolith… falling the opposite direction of the organics. A great cloud of pulverized concrete filled the air as his aft struck the floor with the strength of a pile-driver.

For a long moment, all that could be heard were the sharp intakes of an overwrought Cybertronian. White faced, Cassidy peered up at the fallen giant and his surprise passenger. She swallowed. A dent now adorned the concrete floor underneath Bumblebee's cheerful yellow aft. Granted, it wasn't as big as the crater Swindle had left back during her kidnapping days. And when the huckster had done it, it had been deliberate… Shaking herself, the brunet reaffirmed her personal vow to be out of this crazy-house before the week was out.

"Let's do that again," Sari shrieked loudly in unmitigated enthusiasm. "Can we, can we, can we? It was better than a roller-coaster!" Giggling excitedly, the small girl clung to metal faceplates even as giant servos attempted to gently pry her off. She was oblivious to the fact that Bumblebee barely shut his mouth before a small boot wrapped foot could become lodged in it. Long claws grew out of blunt metal fingers next, carefully hooking the back of her yellow dress. Wary of an accidental impaling, he carefully tugged the small child free. Then he swiftly sheathed his claws. Finally residing safely in the yellow scout's open palm, she beamed up at her guardian happily. "I love you, 'Bee! You're the coolest robot, ever!"

The scolding that had been on the tip of his glossa instantly vanished at the sight of so much adorableness. Ignorant of her close brush with death, the small red haired girl beamed at the yellow scout and tilted her head, just like a sparkling requesting knowledge. A returning smile fought for dominance over the frown on his faceplates. She was just so cute! 'Hey,' he justified silently to himself, 'So what if I almost got her killed. It's not like she'll do it again! Besides, I can easily compensate the next time!' Kicking her go-go boots lackadaisically over the edge of his hand, she hugged one of his fingers affectionately. He softened at the sight. At last deciding to shelve the matter, he drew her close to his chassis and mumbled back, "l love you too, Sari."

'I almost died,' Cassidy silently realized, her heart pounding with delayed panic. She blinked, trying to come to grips with what she had just witnessed. 'The kid almost died! We've got to get away from these walking natural disasters before they kill me!' Branded in the forefront of her brain was the remembered flash of long razor-sharp metal talons and soft Decepticon flavored threats. Shuddering at the memory of Swindle, she couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at the bastards manipulative ways. Anything to drive off the fear. Before she could have an embarrassing freak out moment, the brunet turned and slipped out the door. As she hurried off, the stray thought occurred to her that she should have tried to rescue Sari. Then again, any interference on her part probably would have resulted in a lot of anger and mayhem… and she really couldn't deal with any of that right now. No. What she needed right now was a little alone time to calm down.

That was when the first earthquake hit. She stiffened through the ground shattering tremor, yet somehow managed to keep her feet. Then another tremor hit. This one was weathered as well, though, with a slight amount of difficulty. After a while, it became apparent that these tremors were steady, almost rhythmic...and they were coming closer. They grew in strength until her sneaker's were bouncing against the concrete flooring and the light fixtures trembled. As the massive steps drew closer, Cassidy found herself hoping it was a T-Rex. Not anywhere near as destructive, they also had the added benefit of being fairly predictable, and they didn't have a tendency to call her…

"Cassie, wait up," the yellow mech shouted jovially, the concrete flooring shuddering with each footfall. Reaching the teenager's side, he leaned down to let Sari slide off of his shoulder-plates. She landed on the dusty concrete ground with a playful hop and followed along behind them.

Imperceptibly stiffening at that oh-so-hated nickname, Cassidy glared before plastered on a flawless movie-star grin. Adopting the same tone of ditzy good cheer as her stalkers, she chirped, "Oh, hi Bumbles! I didn't hear yah coming!"

"Where are we going," Sari inquired, the older girl's sarcasm not even registering in her mind. She was focused on other things, like being as lazy as possible. Reaching out a lean hand, she insistently tugged on the brunet's shirt sleeve as she whined, "Come on, Cass, why can't we ride in a car?" A smile brightened her features as the perfect bribe came to her. "You could even sit in the driver's seat. I'm sure 'Bee won't mind!"

"Of course not," Bumblebee announced, folding into himself and twisting parts until he was on all four tires. The driver's side door popped open in a way that was nothing short of jaunty. "Come on, Cassie! We've got miles to put behind us!"

"Got that right," the teenager groused under her breath. With an effort, she resumed an outward appearance of good humor. "Look, guys. I thought we went over this yesterday. You can do whatever yah want! I'm not stopping yah. So, I don't know, go demolish a government building or something." Shoving her hands into her pockets, she continued walking.

"But Cassie," Bumblebee whined. "You're supposed to have an Autobot guarding you at all times. What if the Decepticons attacked?"

Not bothering to look at him, Cassidy drawled, "I doubt they're that bored." Her eyes fixed on the exit up ahead, she determinedly placed one sneaker in front of the other. Even if there was a giant metal robotic face right next to her and a little kid stepping on her heals. That door was hers… "Hey," Cass yelped as she was forcibly dragged into Bumblebee's alt-mode by insistent seatbelts. She didn't make it easy for him. Biting, clawing, and kicking, the brunet used every trick she knew. Fingers clung and insults flew as she did her level best to reach the open air. The door swung shut.

"Jeez, Cass, give him a break," Sari scolded, rolling her eyes. The small pig-tailed girl sat demurely in the passenger seat like a polite little lady. She even already had her seatbelt fastened and her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Yeah, Cassie. It's just a car drive. Yeesh," Bumblebee groused, sounding more than a little miffed. With a level of patience he didn't know he possessed, the yellow scout did his best to strap the teenager into one of his seats. And then she slammed all five fingernails of one hand down into his upholstery. "YOW! Why did you…? Frag this! I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you behaved like this for Swindle, I actually feel sorry for the guy!"

"Bee," Sari yelled. "That's a horrible thing to say!"

"Well, she started it," Bumblebee protested. "Do you realize how much those little claws of yours hurt when they dig into my upholstery? Especially along the seams." Noticing Cassidy was preoccupied with opening one of his windows, he slowly uncoiled the nearest safety harness.

"Gah," Cassidy yelped at the sudden feel of a stray belt buckle creeping snakelike over her left shoulder. Jerking out of the way, she spun around and half stood in front of the encroaching nylon. At the full force of her wild eyed glare, it hesitated. "Alright, that's it! Keep those belts where I can see them!"

"Cassidy," Bumblebee chided, using a tone most people used for disobedient puppies. "Your human laws clearly state that you need to wear a seatbelt at all times while traveling in a moving vehicle…"

"Nothing says yah can't let me walk," the brunet argued back.

"Except for the fact that paint dries faster than it takes one of you're kind to cross the road," Bumblebee sneered right back. His interior temperature began rising as he started to loose his temper.

"GUYS," Sari abruptly shouted at the top of her lungs. Cybertronian seatbelts flinched at the shrill organic scream and his windshield wipers involuntarily jerked. Cassidy winced before giving the small red-head a withering look. In a more normal tone of voice, Sari continued, using the same phrase her dad preferred to start one of his lectures. "Now that I have your attention… Can we just go for a drive? Pleeeease? I'm sick of being stuck in the base all day." She favored the radio console and the teenager with big pleading dark eyes. When both targets of her patented puppy dog eyes routine hesitated, she brought out the big guns. Her lower lip trembled.

"Oh, alright," Bumblebee at last sighed, his interior temperature cooling with his temper. Focusing on the teenager still standing in front of his steering wheel, he inquired, "What do you say, Cassie? Bygones?"

"Don't call me 'Cassie," the brunet grumbled. She gritted her teeth through another agonizing twenty seconds of manipulative cuteness from the small pigtailed girl before she also gave in. Slowly, doing her level best not to squirm at the sensation of hundreds of bunching and rising springs, she sank back down into the living seat cushions. Nodding wearily, she agreed, "Alright, pax." At the sight of a long slithery gray safety harness rising into her field of vision, however, she abruptly recoiled. "But I'm not wearing a seat belt!"

"What? But you said…," Bumblebee's annoyed sputtering slipped into Cybertronian. He considered the option of strapping her down anyway. Then he remembered her sharp little organic claws. "Aargh! Now we're back to square one! You're impossible!"

"Bumblebee's got a point," Sari agreed from her slumped position in the chair next to her. So far, they had spent a grand total of ten minutes parked in the middle of the hallway. A scowl crossed her features as she realized that Bumblebee's interior was starting to heat up again. She turned to confront the growing standoff, saying, "Look." Hooking two long narrow brown fingers up underneath the seatbelt strap, the red-head tugged. It obediently extended just like any normal safety harness under her hand. Letting go, she watched it snap tight again up against her chest. "See? I'm wearing one and it hasn't done anything bad to me, yet!"

Recognizing where Sari was going with this, Bee unbuckled the small red-head and declared, "Yeah, Cass. My belts are just like what any dumb drone vehicle would have." Extending all five belts up into the air, he wriggled them demonstratively. "I'd never hurt you with these… In fact, they're designed to keep you safe!" He clicked the buckles playfully. "So you see? They're harmless!"

"Most seatbelts don't turn into tentacles, Pal," Cassidy declared, her arms stubbornly crossed and a glower on her face. At Sari's confused expression, the seventeen year old motioned up at the still hovering safety harnesses. "What? Yah didn't know? Each of these belts are actually long mechanical snake-things in disguise. Tentacles… And believe me, he's got a lot more that five if Swindle's anything to go by."

"Wait a click," Bumblebee yelped in surprise. "That 'Con showed you his…? And you…?" Trailing off in shocked distress, the compact car spent a moment trying to absorb this new piece of information. There were very few laws both Decepticons and Autobots agreed on, but one of them was not exposing primitive cultures to their technology. This was because low tech alien cultures tended to have a certain immaturity level when it came to Cybrertronian weaponry, using it against their own species, the Transformers that had gifted it to them, and even other aliens. Thus, the laws were insanely strict. The punishments on the Autobot side of the aisle meant an automatic one way trip to the stockades, and from what 'Bee had heard, the 'Con punishment was even worse. If Swindle had shown the original form of his manipulating coils to a human, he was in for a world of hurt.

"You mean your seatbelts turn into tentacles," Sari questioned disbelievingly. She blinked in stunned amazement. The small red-head stared slack jawed down at Bumblebee's front console. Then, she slowly gazed around at all of the safety harnesses uncertainly waving in the air. "Cool," she abruptly squealed, bouncing out of her chair. "Hey, can I see? That's way more interesting than a dumb old seatbelt!"

"Huh? What? No, it's against the rules," Bumblebee protested. As grabby little organic hands reached out for his belts, he swiftly reeled all of them out of sight. Undaunted, Sari went after them. His internals squirmed at the ticklish feel of wriggling human fingers searching along the seams between his seat cushions. "Sari, quit doing that! It tickles."

"Always knew Swindle was a pervert," Cassidy grumbled under her breath. Fed up with the entire affair, the older girl set to work trying to pry one of the manual door locks up. "This was loads of fun," she casually drawled, "But I've got a bus to catch. So, if you'll excuse me…"

"No way. I'm still driving you two," Bumblebee stubbornly declared, snapping his driver's side door closed. At the feel of wriggly little kid fingers digging into his cushion seams, he let out a startled yelp. "Sari, quit that! It's against the rules for me to show any primitive cultures my original alt-mode… Gah! Stop it! That tickles!"

"Come on… I just want to see one tentacle," Sari pleaded. At his stubborn refusal, she pouted and plopped back against her seat unhappily. Glancing up, she saw that Cassidy was also in a similar state of disappointment. They studied one another silently. Then grinning wickedly, they both turned and attacked Bumblebee's upholstery.

"Gyah! What are you…? Cassidy, Sari, stop it," Bumblebee yelled, huffing out an involuntary giggle. He rocked on his chassis. "Guys, I mean it!" Snicker, wheeze, snicker. Not only did they continue, they also moved the tickle attack to his back seats. Wiper fluid streamed down amidst his continued laughter. Then Cass began worrying the buttons decorating his bench seat. At his wits end, every safety harness spilled out of his open windows in helpless amusement. Spotting a possible rescuer, he called out, "Ratchet! Help!"

Pausing in his journey toward the rec-room, the medi-Bot looked at the spectacle that Bumblebee had turned himself into. Ratchet snorted and shook his head. "That's why I don't let organics in my alt-mode," he grumbled, his craggy features contorting into a rough smile. Turning, he continued on his way.

"Ratchet, you traitor," the scout shouted, even as he continued to wheeze in pained laughter. Bumblebee could only endure two more minutes before even he couldn't take anymore. "Alright, alright! I'm willing to compromise! Hah, hah! I said I'm willing to compromise!" Snicker, wheeze, snicker.

_Fifteen minutes later…_

The weather was nice that day. Birds were chirping, the sun was peering brightly from between thick clouds, and to top it all off, there was a wonderful view of downtown Detroit. Spectators lined the street and pointed excitedly while cars pulled over to the side, their drivers in a state of awe. Preening under all the attention, Bumblebee was on cloud nine. Sari giggled and shrieked at all the fun she was having while sitting on the scouts left shoulder. Red faced in embarrassment, Cassidy did her level best to blend into the blinding yellow armor on his right. Thumping down the street, he paused for the hundredth time to pose for pictures.

"Big robot gives little girls a free ride.' This one's going in the newspapers," a reporter boasted loudly to a fellow newshound. "How old would you say they are, Ted?"

"Huh?" Ted raised one eyebrow speculatively. "Well, the red-head looks about eight or nine… and maybe the other one's ten? She looks kind of short."

"Sounds good to me," the other reporter laughed. "By noon tomorrow, this will be on every newspaper stand and web page in the country!"

"Mommy, mommy," a little boy begged while tugging on an older woman's skirt. "Can I ride the Transformer next?" More cameras flashed. Even a few of the biggest gossips in Detroit High School stood amongst the crowd, in a state of disbelieving glee that they were this close to the giant aliens. And was that the Nulte kid that got abducted a couple of months ago? Cassidy wanted to die. Now slumping so far that she was practically laying down, the teenager covered up her face as much as was physically possible with her tangled green streaked hair.

'Whatever happened to the good old days,' Cass wondered. She had fond memories of slipping into a thick crowd of strangers, not a soul glancing sideways at her passage. Pushing her sunglasses back up her nose, she winced through the thud of renewed giant steps. Maybe she was being too harsh? Bumbles' was willing to compromise on his car drive idea, and this was better than being trapped in a sentient car… Fingers dug into armor seams as her world, yet again tilted as the big robot posed for another round of flashing cameras. Cassidy just wished she wasn't the focal point of all this attention! At the sight of a familiar business, the brunet visibly brightened. "Well," she announced with hurried good cheer. "Here's my stop! Thanks for the ride!"

"Hey," Bumblebee squawked in surprised alarm as Cassidy scrambled down his armor fast enough to set world records. "Cassie, you're supposed to wait for me to put you down! Hey, wait up!" His hurried race slowed down to a dull stop as the girl in question slipped through the door to one of the businesses. 'Fitness Guru: The Ultimate Workout," the sign above the door proclaimed in bold purple calligraphy. In confusion, he and Sari looked at one another.

Once in the door, Cassidy nodded at the girl sitting behind the desk. Korina glanced up, blinked in disbelief, then started motioning. Putting one hand over the phone receiver in her hand, she whispered, "Cass, the boss wants to see you." The message now delivered, she went back to her call. "Samantha, hi, sorry about that. And you want to go for the year long membership deal. It comes with free exercise training and a discount on diet drinks for one month… Uh, huh."

Raising one eyebrow, Cassidy changed direction and began making her way toward the bosses office, a small little cubbyhole near the bathrooms. As gyms went, it was a fairly tiny hole-in-the-wall sort of place. It was started up by a young Italian couple looking to start their own business in the land of opportunity. They had even managed to expand, adding a modest weight room next door. While she sidestepped little old ladies and huge muscle benders that were admiring their reflections in the mirror, she considered why the boss would want to see her. 'Well, I did get abducted by one of those freaky aliens. And I sent my apologies for not coming afterward because of those government goons… Maybe she wants to congratulate me on surviving?'

Her boss, Emilia, looked up when she pushed open the door. Instantly, she was all smiles, leaping to her feet and scooping the shorter teenager into a bear hug. "Cassidy," she exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, thank God you're alive! I thought for sure I'd never see you again after what happened! Getting kidnapped out of your bedroom window? And then you were all over the news? The customers couldn't stop worrying about you! You do know that you're their favorite employee here?" Shaking her curly dark head, she clucked her tongue at the idea. Drawing back, she gave the girl a subdued, saddened look. "It just makes it that much harder to fire you."

At first, Cassidy was stunned speechless. When the older woman didn't start laughing like it was all a big joke, she cleared her throat. As calmly as she could, she inquired, "May I ask why? I mean, I just survived near death at the hands of those giant, destructive, moronic robots. Surely that doesn't deserve…"

"No, it doesn't," Emilia interrupted unhappily. "But I've got a business to run, and those aliens… Well, they aren't exactly business friendly. Why, what they did to the Wal-Mart shopping center last month…"

"Woah, woah," Cassidy protested. "Just because those guys completely demolished an entire parking lot worth of cars doesn't mean…" She winced a the abrupt sound of shattering glass. Together, the pair looked up at what used to be Emilia's office window.

Smiling sheepishly, Bumblebee shook off the glass shards littering his armor. Peering through the broken window, he sheepishly waved. "Oops… er, sorry about that," he apologized with a blush. Backing away, he let out an electronic howl of alarm as he stumbled over a trash can and landed hard on his aft.

Sari, sitting on a nearby bench, shook her head at the sight. She was long used to such occurrences with her large friend. Despite the fact that she'd told him that Cassidy was fine, Bumblebee had still insisted on trying to find her. Now that little workout place had a huge hole where their window used to be. Cringing at what sounded like a mini car crash, the nine-year old sighed. Looked like they also now had another crater to fill up, too. Sigh.

Cassidy winced through the resulting earthquake, then cringed as she watched several hairline cracks grow along the walls and ceiling. Looking back at her bosses disapproving frown, the brunet sighed unhappily as she said, "I'll go retrieve my last pay-check." While she trudged out the door to get her stuff out of her locker and get rid of her company key, Cassidy wondered, 'Can my life get any worse?'

_Meanwhile, a mere four blocks away…_

"Unbelievable," Swindle groused to himself as he sped along the busy city streets at well over fifty miles an hour. Horns honked in protest as he expertly zipped through a growing line-up of cars stopped in front of a red light. Under normal circumstances, this sort of behavior would earn a scream or two. Vengeful drivers would waste no time in calling the cops. Of course, most reckless drivers didn't have a light up sign on the roof that said 'Taxi.' "All I need is one Land-Rover! Just one. You'd think they all took a vacation from the city!"

A promising candidate for him to mimic began cautiously nosing out of a nearby parking garage. Swindle abruptly slowed, wary of startling it's skittish organic pilot, before it became obvious that it was just a hybrid. A quick scan proved that the rest of the garage was useless to him as well. He snorted in disgust and sped off. Spinning in annoyance, the 'Con took off for the next sector in his search grid ignoring the odd organic that attempted to hail him for a ride. Ducking in and out of slow moving traffic, even driving on the sidewalk in places, the Decepticon impatiently made his way to the next quadrant on his search map.

Officer Petterson was in the midst of an afternoon traffic jam waiting for the light to change. Now, don't get him wrong. He had seen taxi-cabs do some pretty screwy maneuvers in his time on the force. Watching one use an empty car carrier to jump over three lanes of traffic, though, was a bit too much. Choking out a surprised exclamation, he stared wide eyed at the spectacle. Then it was all lights and sirens.

Things were getting desperate. He was currently in grid thirty-eight of a forty section map. If he didn't find a suitable alt-mode soon, Swindle would have to (shudder), drive out into the country. "There just has to be a jeep around here somewhere… Ah, hah!" Parked by the side of the road, almost blending into the muddy brick building behind it, was a desert camouflage painted Land-Rover. Perfect.

At first, Peterson thought the little yellow checkered cab was going to pull a runner. He almost crashed when his quarry did a complete three-sixty, spinning expertly into a rare free parking space next to a small desert-camouflage painted jeep. "Showoff," he grumbled, shutting off his siren. "No, no, Samuels… false alarm. The little punk decided to let me know how nicely he could execute a doughnut. Yep, and now he's stopped… You know what, come down to my position. I might need a little backup in case he decides to do any more cute moves. Yeah, over and out."

Typing in the taxi's license, he studied the resulting record even as he climbed out of his unit. A long list of traffic violations greeted his eyes. Frowning, he slowly strolled up to the parked taxi-cab and knocked on the driver's side door. It didn't roll down. He scowled as the seconds ticked by, then knocked again. "Sir," he said out loud. "Open up your window." No response. "I said open up," he repeated himself, this time in Hindi. With the recent surge in Indian immigrants, members of the force were encouraged to learn some of the language for situations like this.

Peering into the darkened window, he opened his mouth to continue, only to pause. No-one was inside the cab. Spooked, he backed up a pace, then a little more. In a town like Detroit, it paid to be cautious, especially around driverless vehicles. He wished his partner hadn't called in sick today. Hurrying to put his car between himself and the possible Transformer, he began making calls. Thus, he didn't notice the odd electrical shimmer that skittered over the taxi-cab from bumper to bumper. This was followed by an odd sort of shift, starting with shape, then continuing on to coloring. All he knew was that when he looked up, a completely different car sat there.

"How in the…," Peterson exclaimed, momentarily startled. He stared. Now there were two jeeps parked on the side of the road, different colors, sure, but the same two vehicles. Where had the taxi gone? "Hold it, Samuels. Something weird is happening… Er… Does anybody down there know if these things can change color? You don't know, huh? What about their shape?" Standing slowly, he eyed the new vehicle suspiciously. Footsteps coming up behind him made him jump in alarm. The teenage boy slowed down, a look of concern coming over his face. His sharp dark eyes looked over the cop from his crouched over defensive stance to the almost scared look in the man's eyes. With an odd expression on his face, he inquired, "Is there something wrong, officer?"

Taking in the small teenager in the loud orange checkered zoot-suit, Petterson relaxed slightly. "Nah, kid, you didn't do anything…" His radio buzzed a question, cutting the conversation short. "Yeah, Peterson here. What did yah find?" He fell silent, a frown growing on his features at the reply. "Uh, huh. Yah don't know? Have yah asked Fanzone? I see… Well, what do I do then? It almost belly flopped on a little old lady back on fifth avenue ten minutes ago."

Deciding that the cop was occupied enough, the teenager turned jauntily on his heal and headed over to one of the duplicate vehicles. Inserting a key, he pulled open the driver's side door with the barest of mechanical clicks. Officer Peterson jumped as if he'd heard a gunshot. "No, kid," he yelled to the teen, just as he climbed into the living car. "Wait a minute!"

"I just need to buy some milk for the old man," the teen yelled back over the sound of the car radio. Digging into his pocket, he proudly showcased his license. "No worries, yeah?" Putting the jeep in gear, he sped out of the parking space. As he left, he tilted his driver's side mirror to look a the cop, silently laughing over the organic's open mouthed alarm. Once out of sight, there was a shimmer of static like a bad film projection, and the teenager fizzled out of existence as Swindle's hologram shut off. "YES," Swindle enthused, doing a vehicular style moonwalk on his tires. "I've got my alt-mode, I've got my hologram, and I've got the list of buyers ready for the sale of the century! Now I only need one last item: Cassidy Jane Nulte."


	4. Chapter 4

Counterfeit

Chapter 4: School Daze

By: Mooncrossed

_Man, am I glad to get this chapter done. It was really difficult, both because the computer was having problems and because of real life getting in the way. So, I am most definitely giving this one up to God! Many thanks go out to XxShadowfangxX (Yep, Swindle is going to have fun. Glad you liked it), to kitty1994 (Yeah, Cass definitely has problems. And Swindle is going to have a little trouble, too), for Noella50881 (You've got Confidence Game under bookmarks? Cool. Happy you like my writing), and to Bumblebeecamaro98 (Yep, Swindle can't leave well enough alone. And Reuben _Simmons_ is just as tricky…poor Cassidy). I don't own Transformers, Harley Davidson, or Jeeps._

Obviously, she had gone to bed too early. This was the conclusion that Cassidy had come to right around the second hour of sleeplessness. Curled up under the blankets, she tried to get to sleep. It was just so difficult. The brunet grumbled to herself as she turned over. 'Great,' she silently groused as headlights began to play across her bay window. 'Now the drunks are heading home from a long night of boozing it up!' She flicked a glance at her bedside clock, before belatedly remembering that it had quit working a week ago. Just like the one that had broken two months before it. Sigh…

Turning again, she slammed her eyelids closed. Cassidy was bound and determined to achieve unconsciousness before the first alcoholic staggered past her house. Except… someone else had other ideas. At the sound of pulverized bricks and shattered glass, the brunet sat bolt upright in bed. A huge black hand armed with razor sharp metal claws was reaching for her. Beyond that was the biggest pair of lavender colored cat's eyes she had ever seen, aglow with wicked amusement.

With terrifying suddenness, the robotic hand came down with crushing force. Screaming in alarm, Cassidy rolled out of bed… and belly flopped onto unforgiving concrete. "Gnnnugh," she wondered unintelligibly as she opened her eyes. Her world swam slowly back into focus. The first thing she saw was a series of posters tacked to the nearest wall. Squinting, her eyes wandered across playbill after playbill. They continued ever onward across an endless landscape in all directions. It was only then that the brunet remembered that she was no longer a prisoner of an obsessive alien salesman; she was living in a warehouse. "Oh," she mumbled, wincing. "A nightmare… stupid Swindle."

'At least he's an easy target,' she reflected with a sleepy yawn. 'And the jerk deserves it after all the trouble he caused.' Rolling over, Cass attempted to sit up, only to discover that she couldn't. One arm was hopelessly tangled up in twisted bed-sheets, the other was numb from the fingertips to the elbow due to a bad sleeping position. Her legs were so completely immobilized in blankets that they resembled a mermaid's tail. Under these circumstances, she had one of two options: spend the next twenty plus minutes untying herself… or curl up on the hard cold ground and fall asleep. Cassidy blinked tiredly as she weighed her options for a long moment. Coming to a decision, the teenager shook the pins and needles sensation from her arm and set to work. The deep clarion call of hot coffee was pulling her with an ever stronger insistence.

Finally, bruised but triumphant, Cassidy climbed to her feet. Then she took three steps and fell flat on her face. "…Ow," she groaned after a moment of painful embarrassment. One glance proved that she now had almost identical bloody palms, a banged knee, and a jarred elbow. Further investigation revealed the reason for this crash landing. It took a moment for the brunet to identify the slimy green mass on the floor, but when she did, she was incensed. Rover had done it again! Carefully standing up, she gathered the dripping, used to be white sneaker, gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Alien drool oozed toward the ground like melted cheese. Shuddering, she examined the room. There weren't a lot of hiding places.

Recognizing a rumpled pile of black cloth that was in reality a snoozing dress, she could guess where the little miscreant was. "Rover," she exclaimed in heartfelt annoyance, stomping up to the snoozing heap of living cloth. "Just what is it with you and my sneakers? This is the fifth time this month!"

Familiar chirping noises came from the depths of the alien nest, followed by a small green face. A yawn stretched his puppyish face and he favored her with a toothless, panting smile. Then he noticed his midnight chew toy dangling from her hand. Skin flaps rose all along his back in instant alarm. "Croak?"

An avenging angel in teddy-bear pajamas, Cassidy glared down at the small hairless alien. Then the teen declared her pronouncement, the phrase every house-pet, both interstellar and domestic, hated to hear: "Bad fruppy!"

Rover, a long time veteran of similar phrases from a certain robotic sales-mech, instantly panicked. Any minute now, the seatbelts would come. Then the hole would appear and he would fall into the land of eternal junk piles. Forgetting all about how the Decepticon wasn't here, he scrambled to get away and inadvertently clawed Nicky. This resulted in instant pandemonium. Wide awake and disoriented, the alien dress sprang to life like a panicking jellyfish and zeroed in on the one person it knew would protect it.

"Oomph," Cassidy exclaimed as she was bowled over by a dress going twenty miles an hour. There was a flurry of wildly rustling skin-like cloth climbing over her pajama clad body, then stillness. Squinting, the brunet opened her eyes to view a distant warehouse ceiling. She was on the floor, again, for a third time. 'Ouch,' was the only coherent thought that ran through her mind, along with a raging tidal-wave of cuss words. Now her head and spine hurt, too. 'Why me,' she wondered in contemplative misery. 'Maybe I should stay down here? I mean, gravity obviously hates me today. And it's getting kind of hard to breathe.'

It was the threat of suffocation that finally prompted the seventeen year old to move. Flopping a hand into view, one that was newly shrouded in a spider web of living silk, she half-heartedly patted a section of living dress. Convinced it's host would protect it if it only drew closer, it shivered and constricted even more in lingering terror. Now Cass felt like she was wearing an extremely stiff corset. "There, there, Nicky," she rasped, and fought not to give into her own fear. She must not have been very convincing. A wince stole over her features as the alien's skirt scrunched around her hips and legs like a pair of black harem pants. Swallowing, she tried again.

This time, she carefully poked at one of the scraggly whiskers decorating the neckline like so much silver lace. It flinched. Was it her imagination, or did the dress relax slightly? Cassidy did it again. Curious alien feelers reached out after her hand and it loosened a bit more. "It's okay, Hon," she breathed, at last able to use her vocal chords. "You're safe now… good, Nicky." Living cloth glimmered slightly, giving off an almost iridescent shine and the gown relaxed around her ankles with a swish. Grateful, the teenager climbed to her feet. An abrupt thud, however, instantly made her turn in alarm.

"Hey, Cassidy, wake up," Sari exclaimed excitedly. Ramming her shoulder into the door, it at last came open with a rusty screech. Stumbling into the room, she just barely kept herself from falling on her face. "It's time for… school?" Getting her first solid look at the older girl's gothic ball gown, the red-head stared. Her nose wrinkled in a mixture of confusion and disgust as she backed away. More than a little convinced that the brunet was mentally unbalanced, she offered up an insincere smile. "Right, so, I'll let you get back to… that. Okay, bye!"

The door swung closed with a loud bang, making Cassidy jump. In silence, she listened as small nine-year-old boots ran into the distance. One eyebrow quirked up. 'Weird kid,' she reflected absently as she glanced around the room. A small, green, ordinary looking toy ball rested on top of her pillow, so that explained where Rover had gotten to… "And Nicky, get off," she ordered, glaring down at the clingy gothic dress. Inquiring whiskers stretched up toward her face like so much silver lace. "You heard me! I'll take yah for a walk later." Dejectedly, the alien gown slid off of her body and inch-wormed it's way over to her bed. It flopped onto the mattress with a depressed sigh.

'Great,' the teenager silently groused as she trudged toward the shelves that held her clothes. Gazing upon a myriad of tee-shirts, jeans, and sneakers in various states of disrepair, she continued to contemplate her life. At last selecting a yellow shirt, she gave it a good sniff. Deciding it was still clean enough, she proceeded to change out of her pajamas. 'Why is it that even though I'm the victim, I still feel like the worst kind of ogre? Sigh… Typical Monday.'

Using a supreme amount of effort, Cass was at last ready to attend the first day of academic drudgery. In some ways, she was dreading it. The brunet had seen the worst side of public education and was a long time veteran of the bullying it had to offer. Being the granddaughter of a well-known pan-handler, and the shortest kid in every school she'd ever attended, had played a large part in that. Her fellow classmates were bound to be twice as vicious as a result of her recent alien abduction. Gritting her teeth through the sting, Cassidy slung a heavily laden backpack over her bruised back.

Then there's the flip side of the coin,' she reflected silently as she trudged slowly along the endless hallway toward the rec-room. 'There won't be any aliens.' This was a big plus in her book, because even if bullies and nasty teachers were unpleasant, they were also a lot less likely to try to kill her. As the seventeen year old reached the entryway, she just barely dodged a pair of gargantuan metal feet. Her heart pounding, she watched Bumblebee run off huffing out alien laughter. Seconds later, an extremely annoyed, paint spattered ambulance sped by, all sirens flashing. Neither noticed the human they had almost run down. At last deeming the coast to be clear, the brunet resumed her journey. Cassidy needed caffeine in the worst way.

Just as she was taking her first sip of that heavenly substance, Sari caught up with her, this time on roller blades. "Oh, good," the younger girl chattered. "You changed out of that dress!" At the teenager's bleary eyed stare, she instantly backpedaled. "Not that it was ugly, because dresses are 'In' right now… er, right! New subject." She skated in a different direction to buy time before abruptly spinning around, a wide grin on her face. "Man, you are so lucky! Going to high school, hanging out with other kids! I would kill to be in your shoes. And you get to ride Prowl, too! You'll look so cool on a motorcycle. Aargh! I'm so jealous…"

"Woah, woah," Cassidy interrupted, waving her free hand. The other had a death grip on her coffee mug. All she had gotten out of that entire hyper-active speech was: dress, lucky, school, Prowl, and motorcycle. Hoping she was misinterpreting the red-head's words, she asked, "Prowl?"

"You're gonna ride him to high school," Sari huffily grumbled. Scowling into the open refrigerator, she cursed her fate of being banned from motorcycle rides. 'Stupid ninja-Bot,' she silently complained. 'So, what if I got Burger-Bot mystery sauce in his gears? It was an accident! I already said I was sorry, sheesh!'

Cassidy, meanwhile, was contemplating her mug of coffee the same way a death row inmate considers their last meal. She would have to do evasive maneuvers if she wanted to avoid riding… gulp… Prowl. Don't get her wrong, she was sure he was a nice killer robot, provided he had the correct medication and stayed away from sharp objects. It was just the thought of having to sit on top of him. Shudder. Noticing her drink was getting cold and hesitant to waste it, she threw it back in a bitter swallow.

"Miss Nulte," a calm British voice interrupted scant inches behind her back. Prowl raised one solid gray optic ridge in curiosity as she abruptly sprayed coffee across the room, Filing the reaction away for future analysis, he waited politely for her coughing fit to die down before continuing. "You are due at your organic learning center in approximately twenty-six point eleven minutes. Finish refueling. I will be awaiting you at the base's exit, do not keep me waiting." His message delivered, and with no small amount of barely contained disgust, the motorcycle made his spindle legged journey into the shadows.

"Eww, Cass," Sari exclaimed, who had only barely avoided the geyser of caffeine. "Say it, don't spray it! …Hey, um, are you okay?"

"Huh," the brunet wondered distractedly, unaware that her skin had drained of all color and her hair was standing on end. Desperate to be as alert as possible for anything the psycho might throw at her, she dove on the coffee machine. A plan, she needed a plan! As she drank down a scalding hot cup, Cass feverishly searched for a solution to avoid the motorcycle ride of doom. She was well aware that he would kill her if given half a chance. "Yeah, never better. Um, yah wouldn't happen to know if there are any other exits out of this place, would yah?"

"Oh, sure," Sari exclaimed, all smiles. "There's this really cool giant tree growing in Prowl's room, and it's so much fun to climb. It goes all the way through this open air skylight at the top of the ceiling!"

"To the ceiling?" An unhappy sinking feeling grew inside Cassidy. Everywhere she'd been, the rooms had been the size of aircraft hangers. Climbing was no problem. It was just the thought of climbing that high with only two cups of coffee to keep her awake that caused her to hesitate. "Um, Sari, are there any other ways out of here?"

No, apparently she didn't know about any other exits. Sigh. So, now, here Cassidy stood, a ratty overstuffed backpack clutched in one hand and nowhere near enough caffeine to out-think a giant advanced alien robot. A heavy octane black and white Harley Davidson police bike rested innocently on its kickstand before her. Chrome wheel rims gleamed and a polished paint job practically glowed in the feeble cloudy light streaming in from the open cargo bay door. The brunet was more concerned with the plush leather seat cushion laid out before her, soft and inviting. Chewing the inside of her cheek nervously, she inquired, "So… Where did yah say your seat usually goes?"

Exasperated, a sigh vented from the shiny donor-cycle as he considered the proper response. So far, this was the fifth excuse the diminutive femme had come up with, and it was beginning to get tiring. Then again, her first introduction to his species had been her involuntary participation in a hostage situation at the servos of a Decepticon… It was natural for the organic to be extremely hesitant in placing any further trust in another Cybertronian under any circumstances. He supposed it would be expecting too much for his guardianship to be as easy as Bumblebee's tended to be with Sari. With longsuffering patience, he replied, "I already told you the location of my seats when I am in root-mode."

"Um, no… Yah beeped at me," she corrected. "That's not an answer."

Employing a meditation technique he normally only had to exercise when Bumblebee was in the vicinity, he explained, "That is because there isn't a language equivalent that I can translate it to. Now will you please just…?"

"Couldn't yah stand up and point at the area where it usually goes," Cassidy interrupted, eyeing his pristinely oiled imitation leather bike seat suspiciously. "…Because all this hesitation isn't really reassuring." For all she knew, that series of complicated electronic noises from a moment ago was robot speak for reproductive parts. And call her a coward, but she'd rather avoid that brand of road-rash. Surreptitiously eying her watch, she silently cursed at the time.

Unknowingly echoing her thoughts, minus the swear words, the Autobot revved his engine impatiently. "We have wasted enough time with this foolish line of inquiry. As of now, you are four minutes and seven seconds late to school."

Her mind already concocting the fastest route toward arriving on campus via hopped fences and back alley shortcuts, Cassidy absently eyed another problem area in this particular piggyback ride. "What about your handlebars? Where do they usually go when you're on two legs?" Another loud engine growl made her wince.

Suddenly, a cheerful gigantic robot face arrived an alarming five inches in front of her. "Hey, Cassie," Bumblebee shouted. And why did she jump back with a spiked heart-rate? He puzzled over this odd behavior for a mere millisecond before chalking it up to organic weirdness and moving on. "I'd be happy to give you a ride to school," he exclaimed, transforming as he went. Planting all four tires on the concrete, he easily blocked the ninja-Bot from the human's view and muscled him aside at the same time with a well-placed bump. The motorcycle wavered slightly at the slight nudge before tipping over with an indignant yelp. Bee ignored it. Hey, it wasn't his fault that his teammate didn't back up to give him more room when he transformed! Focusing on the small organic clutching a threadbare backpack, he continued, "Guaranteed I'm more fun than Mr. Grumpy-Bot over there…"

Bumblebee was interrupted by the sudden impact of a thin metal fist slamming against his side panels. Diverting his optical sensors, he just barely reversed in time to avoid the ninja-Bot's harsh kick. "Oof," Bee exclaimed in surprise at another hit as he transformed. Backpedaling wildly, he did his level best to dodge the slashing claws and flying kicks of one severely ticked off ninja-Bot. In seconds, he found his legs swept out from under him. He was effectively pinned to the floor. "Prowl! What the frag's gotten into you? Youch! If you want to take Cassie to school that badly, then go ahead!" Outraged ice blue optics bore into him, and he swore he could feel the rasp of a Cybertronian throwing star. Desperate to keep his parts exactly where they were, the scout glanced wildly around for a distraction… and found it. "Hey," he yelped nervously, "where did she go, anyway?"

Prowl's thin metal face lifted. Instantly, the room was scanned, analyzed, and categorized. There was no human in the immediate vicinity. Recognizing the truth of Bumblebee's words, he transformed into a motorcycle and sped off with a trail of blackened skid-marks after her. Groaning, the yellow Autobot sat up, one servo to his aching helm. "Jeez," he exclaimed, blinking. "Some-Bot's in a rotten mood…" Then he noticed the tire-tracks on his chassis and became instantly incensed. "PROWL! You fragger! I just polished my armor!" Getting up, he trudged back to the wash-racks, grumbling about certain ninja-Bot's and what he'd love to do in revenge.

Once out on the street, Prowl conducted a thorough scan of the surrounding area. Every bug, plant, and animal was analyzed and discarded, leaving behind only one species: Human. An instant sight map overlapped his vision. In glowing green, it portrayed the DNA traces of that species as they had traversed the area in recent history. Half faded echo's surrounded him as his computerized mind instantly translated the data as the actions of the locals over the course of the day. All information that was older than twenty minutes was instantly discarded, and he focused on one specific signature. Within seconds, one Cassidy Jane Nulte was located. One optic ridge quirked up in bemusement. She was apparently using a very unorthodox route.

Three blocks away, Cassidy very carefully reached for one branch. She had to be careful. The drop to the sidewalk was a long way down. With her hands grasping the rough bark, she hoisted herself off of the wall that she was precariously balanced on. Sneakers dangled a good story and a half as she worked her way, hand over hand, to the nearby trunk. At least she didn't have to do it in the dark this time. It had been a while since she had used this route, mostly because there just wasn't anything of interest out here. Her feet hit the cracked sidewalk, and she was running. 'I'm making pretty good time,' Cassidy decided as she hopped a low lying fence. 'Yes! All I'll have to do now is cut through that one alley downtown and I'll be there before the first bell.'

Well, she would have, if a pair of legs no thicker than a telephone pole hadn't suddenly appeared at the end of the block. "Woah," she shouted, immediately going into a slide the Yankees would have recruited her for in a heartbeat. Long metal fingers seemed to descend in slow motion as she skidded past. Digging her heals into the broken pavement, she turned her impromptu road-rash session into an over the top dive. Barely avoiding the psychotic alien's grasp, Cassidy landed on her palms, tumbled once, and continued running. Prowl straightened. One optic ridge rose in surprise as he watched the brunet race off into the distance. "Fascinating," he softly declared. Prowl had hoped to see more of her acrobatic talents, he just hadn't expected to encounter it now. Dropping to two wheels, he resumed the chase.

His next venue of attack was in front of the construction site for the new Sumdac manufacturing plant that was being built three blocks away. By this point, she was growing tired and he was curious to see how she would evade him this time. Cassidy didn't even see him coming. One minute she was running down the sidewalk, doing her level best to avoid tripping on the oversized bolts keeping the chain-link fence next to her in place. The next, she was bouncing off of a spindly pair of metal legs like a soccer ball off of a goal post. She landed on top of her backpack, hard. "I am supposed to escort you to school," Prowl patiently informed her. "It is for your protection, as well as a method of sharpening my skills as a guardian. This mode of travel seems overly exhausting and in the end, futile." He tilted his head in curiosity at her answering moan of pain.

Blearily, Cassidy looked up at a swirling sky. She was lying on the ground again… and had anyone gotten the number of that runaway tank? A twinge of pain raced through her back, making her wince. With effort, she slowly removed her incredibly lumpy backpack. The brunet knew why it was so painfully hard, too. Today was Monday. And her biology teacher Mrs. Shanahan, being the sadist that she was, always insisted that her students bring their science books to class. Oh, it wasn't for learning purposes. They never cracked open that mammoth of a textbook. It was just so she could gloat about her power over them while she marked in her little teachers-report book.

Asking her dad to call in sick for her was looking more and more appealing. Unfortunately, the unthinkable happened. The backpack that she'd had since the first grade rose into the air attached to some long spidery robotic fingers. "Hey," she squawked, instantly incensed. "Put that down!" Wincing, she made a swipe for one dangling strap and barely caught it. It contained a number of important items, such as her Starbucks discount card, her school textbooks, the homework she'd busted her butt to stay caught up on, and last but not least, her final paycheck from Fitness Guru's.

"You are currently moving far too slowly to make it to the learning center," Prowl informed her. Picking up the backpack, with the girl attached, he raised it until they were face to face. "Therefore, I will transport you."

"Yah will not," she gritted back, struggling to make surprisingly strong pencil thin metal fingers tear loose of her personal property. Putting one sneaker against his chest for leverage, she pulled harder. "I refuse to ride inside, on top of, or around one of you crazy, homicidal machines." Pulling harder, she let out a yell when her hands abruptly slipped. The ground rushed toward her far faster than she expected and she shot her hands out in a vain attempt to avoid having her brains spattered all over the place. Scant inches from the ground, she stopped. Cassidy opened squeezed shut eyes in disbelief. A filthy concrete sidewalk greeted her vision. Slowly, she craned her neck to find that the back of her tee-shirt had been hooked by a single, lethal looking claw. She swallowed.

Silently, Prowl lowered her to the ground and retracted the razor sharp talon back within its housing. He quirked an optic ridge at the femme as she simply laid there, gasping for breath. Slowly, she climbed to her feet. "Okay," Cassidy hastily admitted as an angular narrow metal face larger than she was tall arrived scant inches in front of her. Backing up a pace, she swallowed her fear and plastered on a sickly smile. "Maybe I have been over-reacting a little. But I still think yah need to tone things down a little. Maybe… I don't know, take up a hobby? Talk a little more? Stop stalking people… and where is my backpack?" Prowl blinked at this last question, before looking directly up.

A small, dark dot floated up above, and it was gradually getting bigger. In silence, the pair watched this object as it slowly sailed over their heads and past the chain-link fence, until it landed with a wet plop directly into the back of a cement truck. Gradually, a lump came down the chute. It was small, had straps, and was suspiciously backpack shaped. Reaching the middle of the new building foundation, it sank without a trace. She sighed. 'Farewell, dear backpack,' Cassidy reflected in sad silence. 'You served me well. No doubt, you'll keep the half dozen gangsters buried with you in good company.' Sighing again, she turned and continued trudging toward campus. For once, the giant robot didn't try to mess with her. Was it pity? Perhaps, he felt guilty for what he had done, or maybe he thought she deserved it. Frankly, she didn't care anymore. He just followed along behind her with long spooky strides.

_Detroit High School…_

Chislaen was an odd sort. Of course, when people said this, she'd answer right back, "So is everyone else, so why worry?" That's why she had joined the Jive crowd. While everybody else was embracing technology left and right, they were recalling the joy and simplicity of the nineteen-twenties. Plus, it was fun! Dancing was practically a requirement as was that time period's slang. Girls wore anything from flapper dresses to peddle-shorts, while the boys preferred zoot suits. Like her boyfriend, Ted. In a quintessentially cool brown pinstripe zoot suit and crew cut hairstyle, he was easily the cutest boy in the school. She snuggled into his boxy embrace with a contented sigh.

Then her eyes widened. A moving spotlight of color was steadily making its way through the milling crowd. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a guy… but yeesh, what an outfit! As if he were a new breed of mutated lizard, the crowd parted around him in fascinated disgust. Wearing neon orange from his oversized collar to his narrow heals, he was a stunning sight. If that weren't enough, a lime green elephant tongue tie was wrapped around his neck like a banner. The stylish metallic purple girl-watcher sunglasses on his face acted as more of an apology by comparison. Drawn to him for the same reason people slow down for a car wreck, the small group approached what was obviously a new student.

'And, good Lord! It's in plaid, too,' Chislaen realized with a sense of alarm. 'They're going to beat him up before the final bell!' As he came closer, she realized something else. He was quite easily the shortest teenager in the school. 'I take it back; he's going to be eaten alive.' Already, she could see a few of the more notable bullies from the popular crowd eying him like a moving target. "Um, excuse me," she blurted out, wincing at the unexpected impulse. Spinning around on one heal, the guy in the orange zoot suit favored her with an instant face breaking grin and an abrupt handshake.

"Why hello there," he exclaimed with the blaring good cheer of a television show announcer. "Chester's the name! Chester J. Ivory! Say, you wouldn't happen to know where the administration office is?" Tilting his hologram's head, he waited for a reply. Swindle eyed the female in front of him. Humans tended to stare a lot. At least, this was the impression he had gotten when he had arrived on campus. The Decepticon had never actually used the holo-matter twenty-three hundred (only four easy payments of thirty-nine ninety-five, plus shipping and handling). Well, let him rephrase that. He had taken it around the ship before. Perhaps he had even strolled along the block a time or two on the warehouse district he was holed up in. This was just the first time he'd tested it amongst the organic herds on a massive scale.

"You're new here, aren't yah?" Ted barely kept a straight face as he asked the question, mildly amused by the situation. Yeah, judging by the outfit and the accent, he was part of the Jive crowd. The question was… what planet? Chester looked like he had just stepped off the lot of some overblown Hollywood musical. He almost cracked up at the open surprise that overcame the guy's features in response. 'Was he really that clueless?' Then he noticed the way Chislaen's eyes soften with sympathy. As his girlfriend visibly melted at Chester's innocent confusion, he groaned. 'Oh, great,' he reflected as he shook his head. The girl's taking in another stray.'

"Yes, it does so happen that I'm new around here," the hologram cheerfully replied, a note of suspicion entering his eyes. "And you are?" He was doing a perfect job of blending in, so it couldn't be the reason for that unexpected question. _It must be because this is such a small, tight-knit community_, Swindle at last concluded. _Detroit's positively miniscule compared to some of the cities I've visited. Hah, by Cybertronian standards, this is hicks-ville._ Of course, he had researched this species extensively, in particular, the subculture of 'Teenager.' This involved endless hours pouring over articles, documentaries, and pictures. After that had come the behavior protocols and general appearance. Hour upon hour was spent watching movies, soap-opera's, and sitcoms. Ugh, how he'd hated it! Most of the material had been muted in favor of sparing his CPU from the inane dialogue. Yet, he had gained a few useful insights from the imagery.

In a number of movies, such as 'Grease,' 'High School Musical,' and 'Sky High,' the males of the species tended to attempt to attract females using overly bright coloration in their clothing. Activating Cassidy's primitive organic mating protocols seemed like the easiest method toward luring her away from her new Autobot owners and thus, re-hiring her. Just one little mating dance, and hey presto! Captured human! Thus, his reason for this eyesore of an outfit. Glancing down at bright orange checkered cuffs, he grinned with pride.

"Er… Chislaen," she hesitantly replied, nibbling her bottom lip. It was just so hard to focus on his face when he was wearing such distractingly painful colors. With effort, she tore her eyes away from the geometric patterned tie around his neck and did her best to focus on his face. He had an ordinary face, slightly round, but nice nonetheless. And he was looking at her like she was from Mars. Quickly, she plastered a smile over her ruby painted lips and explained, "But most people call me Laeny, because it's easier!"

"Must be home-schooled," Ted muttered, sotto voiced, to a fellow Jive artist. The others snickered. 'I mean, really,' he reflected to himself derisively. 'All this guy has going for him is confidence! Is he color blind?' Almost as if she was reading his mind, his girlfriend turned her head and gave him a kittenish glare.

"Well," Chislaen began as she turned back to face Chester. She paused as the terrible neon-orange color of his suit yet again rendered her speechless. It was sort of hard to maintain eye contact when he was wearing such a loud outfit. Still, she made the effort. "Um… Okay, you go up that way." The dark haired teen pointed up the artificial hill past the cafeteria, only to pause when he turned not just his head, but his entire body in a move reminiscent of a dance. "Er… yeah! So, administration is at the top of the rise, you can't miss it. And, by the way, where did you say you were from?"

Looking back at her, his face lit up in yet another blinding white grin. "Oh, you could say that I'm from the middle of nowhere," he tossed back flippantly. "And thank you so much for the directions!" That said, he turned and jauntily walked away, thoroughly convinced he'd done a good job at blending in with the organic spawn. The last thing he wanted was to draw any negative attention. Though, as he stalked his way across the quad he was hit by another kind of unpleasant realization. There was such a thing as being too attractive. A suspicious glance proved that every female in the greater vicinity was staring at him. Of course, so were the males, but that was due to primitive territorial instincts and not to be counted. At the thought of organics, hundreds of organics, bombarding his holographic body… with their kissing, and shedding of skin flakes and oil secretions… He shuddered, sickened by the thought. No thank you! Enticing Cassidy Nulte to his side was his top priority!

Rounding the corner of a classroom, he waited a moment to make sure there were no witnesses, before vanishing like static on a bad movie projection. Back in the parking-lot, an army camouflage Jeep grumbled at the difficulties inherent in telling one human from another. _Especially when they're in a big herd like that_, he silently groused to himself. _Having my holomatter projector on this long is a horrible drain on my energy supplies. Good thing I got a copy of her DNA signature from last time._ One quick scan proved that she wasn't even on campus yet! Checking his internal chronometer, he mentally rolled his optics. _Unbelievable! She's five minutes late? How inconsiderate can that femme be?_ He had, of course, made contingency plans for just such an eventuality. Swindle just disliked the thought of having to endure her first period history class while following her. Reviewing his anthropology notes on this particular species teaching style, he shuddered. Give him a good old-fashioned program download any day!

Just as he was about to re-activate his holomatter projection, his sight map pinged. It indicated that the DNA signature of one Cassidy Jane Nulte was trudging onto the school parking lot. _Yes_, he silently cheered. _Finally, thought she'd never show up. I might not even have to use my hologram and just grab her right here…. And oh, slag._ Any and all plans ceased as a tall, spindle legged Cybertronian followed after her with long, spidery steps. Sinking low on his tires, he ceased any and all activities as the pair passed by. Prowl, with his narrow frame and emotionless expression, was easy to recognize. Swindle could well remember his first encounter with the mech. Memories of being stalked through torn and ripped alien city streets by a mad-mech along with the pale cold rasp of a Cybertronian throwing star, flashed through his memory banks. He winced. Then there were the more pleasant aspects of this particular Autobot, like the fact that he was stinking rich and more than willing to spend the credits. The Jeep internally grinned at the thought. Mental problems were easy to forgive when the mech in question had the potential to be such a valuable customer.

As the pair arrived on the main walkway leading into the campus proper, a hushed silence fell. People everywhere stared. Not blinking, the Autobot stared back. The nearest teenagers gulped in barely repressed alarm and backed away, just in case he suddenly went berserk and started destroying the landscape. In Prowl's case, that was a distinct possibility. Still, the heavy weight of nerve wracking alarm remained. At last, Salvador, an acquaintance of hers, hesitantly spoke up. "Hey… Um, Cass," he began nervously, his Spanish accent seeping through despite his best efforts to not appear afraid. "Who's your tall…" Turning his head, the narrow Cybertronian's angular face focused on him with cold intensity, making him back up in alarm. "…Friend?"

"My parole officer," Cassidy drawled, her voice laced with tired sarcasm. With circles under her eyes, a vaguely zombie-like expression on her face, and her clothes looking like Swiss-cheese, she was an awful sight. Feeling like the world's punching bag, she resumed her trudging march toward the oblivion of public education. 'At least it's better than being in Prowl's charming company,' she reflected with an unhappy sigh. 'And how awful is my home-life that I actually want to be in high school right now? It's like favoring a thorough brainwashing over spending time with your roommates.' As predicted, the pencil thin shadow of killer robot that had been following her for the past seven blocks continued traveling along with her. She hated her life.

"Excuse me," a sudden authoritative voice declared, making her cringe. Cassidy looked up to see the familiar sight of Vice Principal Rowcliff heading her way. She was a full figured woman, looking very classy in a tailor-made dark blue business dress and matching high-heals. This was also a woman that made the brunet's life ten times more difficult! It seemed like she couldn't go through one day without lecturing her on 'responsibility,' or 'setting a positive example.' In some ways, Cass could understand the woman's reasoning. Her grandfather had been a troublemaker, as had her father. Cass had even been guilty of pulling the odd prank every once and a while. Gritting her teeth, the brunet waited for the first verbal lashing of the day… only to be ignored?

One brown eye squinted open in surprised disbelief as Cassidy watched the older woman walk right past her to stop at the feet of the current robotic bane of her existence. "Excuse me, Mr. Robot," Mrs. Rowcliff called out loudly. Prowl silently directed his gaze down at the woman standing in front of him, the one with her hands on her ample hips. "Yes sir, I mean you! We do not allow any aliens on campus during school hours! You do mean well, but you are simply too distracting to the student body!" She made shooing gestures at him, her long red nails glinting in the light.

For a long moment, Prowl wordlessly stared at her. "That's it,' Cass realized with a wince. 'Rowcliff's getting turned into hamburger. I mean, there's no way the psychopath will tolerate something like that without killing off all witnesses.' He lifted one long, spindly leg slowly. Tensing, the teenager looked around trying to figure out what to do. At this close a range, she doubted she'd be able to push the vice principle out of the way before that massive foot came down. Still, she had to try, right? She blinked when the tall spidery mech, instead of stomping, took a long stride over their heads. One step, then another one gouging the grass as he went, and finally a third step over the top of the ornate fence in front of the school. The instant his pedes touched asphalt, he folded down into himself until a perfectly ordinary a motorcycle remained. 'That was amazing,' Cassidy reflected after a moment of openmouthed disbelief. 'Who knew that all it took to make the Psycho go away was saying, shoo, shoo?'

A sudden delighted roar of voices made her jump in alarm. The next instant, she was swamped with well-wishers and gossip mongers. Friends from the drama scene, guys she hung out with when she was bored, acquaintances, enemies… everyone was here! "Guys, okay, alright," Cassidy exclaimed, trying to be heard over the din. It was sort of hard to tell who was who, considering she wasn't much bigger than chest height on most people. Now strangers were milling through the throng. People eager to hear the latest rumors, or pick her pocket… One swift slap against a fellow student's hand took care of that. Then there came the people that were new to the scene. Folks that didn't know her, didn't care, or just had to be where she was standing. She might as well have been in a New York subway station.

"Hey, Cass, welcome back," a nasal, but otherwise friendly voice shouted. Walcott Whitney Weisel the third (known as Weasel to his friends) easily slipped through the surrounding throng. This was mostly because the stench surrounding his lanky body acted as the perfect battering ram. Oh, he took baths regularly. Who didn't? The one thing he refused to do, even under threat of death, was wash his lucky plaid coat. Paranoid of the least little damage arriving to his most precious possession, he paused to look it over. Yep, this baby had helped him pass surprise math tests, escape narrow run-ins with the law, and saved his life countless times, just as it had helped his father, and his grandfather before him. When his dad had presented him with the family coat on his twelfth birthday, it had been the best day of his life. He had refused to take it off for anything except the most dire of circumstances ever since. "Did yah know there's an alien on campus? I just heard about it from Britney! She said he was all tall and scrawny looking, like a giant scarecrow! But I don't see him."

"He's across the street, Weaz," Cassidy drawled tiredly back. Her nose wrinkled as a familiar waft of stench rose off of the scrawny blond. It consisted of mildew, sweat, dirt, and any number of other odors she didn't dare analyze too closely. No amount of logic could dissuade him from wearing it, unfortunately. Now, the seventeen year old just tolerated it. She could see it out of the corner of her eye, it's filthy, moth-eaten remains a true testament to age old superstition. It was also one of the main reasons he was regularly mistaken for a runaway. Hoping to distract him, she said, "Yah see that motorcycle over there? They can turn themselves into vehicles, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," the blond mumbled, while wiping his nose on one crusty sleeve. Then a grin flashed across his pale features as he located the bike in question. "Cool! Catch yah later, Cass!" With that, he was gone as swiftly as he'd arrived, weaving in and out of the crowd like a fish through water. This was likely due to the greater public fearing the need for a tetanus shot if he brushed up against them. The other reason, she supposed, was because of his flexibility. She watched him practically bend over backwards to avoid one of the school jocks, all without pausing in his journey. Sighing, the brunet went back into a half-awake state.

Swindle waited for half a click before making his move. He scanned just to make sure, then activated his holoform once again. A slight shimmer and Chester J. Ivory was once more in existence. Prowl was the last mech he wanted to be discovered by, hiding out here amongst the Human herd. Even worse for the cyber-ninja to realize he was anywhere near the Autobot's newest pet. He'd have to make this quick. Marching purposefully across the quad, the pixilated teenager in the loud checkered zoot suit made his way toward Cassidy. It was slow going, taking an entire minute to walk what would have been the distance of one step for his alt-mode. Unfortunately, running might attract more attention than he wanted. At last, he waded into the mob of organic chaos. Now, where was she? Hesitant to perform any in depth scans for fear of being discovered, he was forced to rely on visual sensors only. There!

Cassidy leaned against the wall, half brain-dead due to lack of caffeine. The noise didn't help much, either. A wince stole across her features as a cheerleader squealed in delight. Ugh! Elsewhere, jocks boasted at the top of their lungs over the playoff last Saturday. Yeesh, and it was for the second time! It was enough to inspire her to violence if she wasn't so dog tired. She hadn't even had PE yet! Just as she was contemplating ditching, and how best to avoid the motorcycle of doom that was no doubt spying on her right now, some guy jumped out in front of her.

"Hello there," Swindle exclaimed pleasantly, doing his level best to raise his avatar's voice high enough to be heard over the mindless chatter of thousands of fleshlings, but low enough to be undetectable to a certain cyber-ninja. She flinched at his greeting, but otherwise didn't reply. Still, he powered on. "I was just walking by, and couldn't help but notice what a perfect model you are! Why, your eyes, they're so… er…" He paused, getting a good look at half-open bloodshot orbs. Dropping that line, he continued on. "And your hair is so… colorful." As he caught sight of filthy green smears embedded in her keratin follicles, Swindle disgustedly reflected, _I had no idea that the alien makeup I applied would remain embedded in her hair this long_. Pausing for a millisecond, he assessed the state that she was in and internally winced. The femme needed a good scrubbing at the very least to look presentable for his latest money making venture, he just wasn't looking forward to it. Humans were amongst the most disgusting of alien species he had encountered in his long sales career.

Noting the multiple Cybertronian sized claw holes in her shirt and jeans, followed by what was undoubtedly the beginning signs of bruising and scrapes, Swindle's pixilated eyes widened behind his sunglasses. Then he recognized the half conscious look in her eyes… possibly due to a concussion. _Unbelievable_, he silently groused, righteously annoyed at a future component of his next sale so badly damaged. _And they call me spark-less? The condition she's in borders on animal cruelty! It's going to take me vorns to make her look presentable. Why, the next time I see that fragger, Prowl, I'm sticking a sonic grenade where the sun doesn't shine!_ With a newly discovered sense of pity shining through the greed, he coaxed, "Let's run away together, kid. What do you say?" Dark gold organic eyes blinked in the barest hints of understanding and she opened her mouth to say something. Eagerly, he awaited a reply…

"Oof," Weasel exclaimed as he slammed into Swindle's holoform at a dead run, bouncing of his form like a human pinball. He squinted as his world slowly stopped spinning like a tilt-o-whirl to see… a blinding orange zoot suit. The teenager's features scrunched in an effort to ascertain if this was one of those crazy hallucinations he tended to get after having one too many energy drinks. Then he noticed the new guy's peeved expression. "Oh, sorry, man. I didn't see yah, there. And, dude? Change out of that outfit before yah get jumped!"

Noticing Cass, he immediately forgot the incident in favor of sharing the latest piece of gossip. "Hey, Cass, yah won't believe what just happened! Those giant robots can transform individual parts into freaky arms and legs and stuff! And they've got all these neat guns, and sharp knives, and they make weird beeping noises when you try to shove your fingers into the engine bay! It almost sounded like a language. Oh, and whatever yah do, never climb on top of one without permission. He didn't like that, although it was kind of disappointing because I really wanted to see this weird gear thingy up under his chin!" Weasel tilted his head, abruptly looking concerned. "Gee, Cassidy, yah don't look so good…" For a long moment, he studied the zombie-like demeanor of a girl he valued like a sister. Then he heard the unmistakable purr of a motorcycle leaving and was instantly distracted. "Well, gotta go! Bye!"

Uh, Weaz," Cassidy began, only to trail off as he disappeared back into the sea of humanity that made up their high school. It was too early in the morning for Weasel to have these kinds of misunderstandings with the world… the kind that tended to incite riots. And she missed her coffee. Heaving a sigh, the brunet wished she was anywhere but here… or that she had another solid dose of caffeine at least. Cass had only managed to get two cups this morning, and today was quite obviously a five cup day. Life sucked.

"Right…," Swindle sarcastically drawled as he watched the rude fleshling swiftly disappear into the surrounding maelstrom of organic life. He often found the lack of social skills in other life-forms incredibly appalling. _Still, better Prowl than me_, the Decepticon mused as he turned his focus toward Cassidy. The femme was exactly where he'd found her, except this time she was pinching the bridge of her nose and mumbling about sneak-thieves and coffee. One pixelated eyebrow rose in consternation. _Oh, ho, so that's the Human's problem?_ A smile gracing his features, the con-mech leaned in extra close. "Want to go out for coffee? I'll drive you…" A spark of life entered Cassidy's features and she focused on him for the first time with something resembling sentience. Congratulating himself on his quick thinking, he waited for the femme to answer…

"ATTENTION STUDENTS," the PA board suddenly blared, slicing through everyone's eardrums with painful intensity. Cassidy winced in agony while Swindle turned around with a look of extreme annoyance on his holographic features. Truly a monstrous example of Sumdac technology run rampant, the view-screen located on the other side of the quad had enough pixels to fuel an entire movie theater complex, a bright enough glow for it to be seen from the distant highway, and an optional pop-out holographic feature. It was part of Detroit's new public image campaign of a bigger, brighter, technology filled future, and had been filmed more than once by local news stations. Now it showcased Principle Rowcliff's scowling expression. "I would kindly request," she continued loudly. "That all of you refrain from any antagonizing, poking, or climbing on the giant robotic alien. He is a visitor to this school, and by extension, the planet. So, try to act in a manner that is becoming of our species! Class will begin in two minutes, thank you!" With a final 'Blat' of feedback, the screen switched off. Sighing in relief, Swindle turned, intent on grabbing Cassidy while he still had the chance… Except she was no longer there! The hologram looked around wildly.

With a pained expression on her face, Cassidy slumped against the theater building. The headache that had been threatening all morning had finally arrived with pounding glee on the inside of her skull. Joy. Right around the moment she was contemplating her fifth plan of attack against all machinery, a familiar scent reached her nostrils, one of mildew, human sweat, and old cloth. 'Huh,' the brunet mused, 'so Prowl hasn't murdered Weasel. Will wonders ever cease?' The vague feeling of guilt she had been experiencing over the fact that she had not rescued the manic blond, was swiftly replaced by justifiable annoyance. She considered yelling at him, but rethought the idea when her head chose that moment to throb painfully. 'Maybe later, when my poor abused brain isn't about to explode...' That was when a Styrofoam cup hovered into view under her nose… one filled to the brim with caffeinated goodness.

"Here we are, courtesy of the teacher's lounge," Weasel announced softly, mindful of any caffeine headaches. "No cream, no sugar, no additives of any kind…" The blond paused as the Styrofoam cup of coffee was snatched from his hands with the speed of a striking snake. Of course, those same teachers didn't know about his filching of their precious java. It wasn't like Cassidy wouldn't do the same for him. She had gotten him out of plenty of jams in the past, usually involving bullies. He was just happy she hadn't accidentally removed a few fingers in her eagerness to consume her drug of choice. Long used to his friend's idiosyncrasies, he casually adopted the role of lookout, instead. Such was the nature of their friendship.

"Mmmm, Weaz, you're a saint," she mumbled as her migraine receded to a manageable ache. Surrounded in coffee fumes and an expression of happy delirium on her face, she smiled up at her rescuer.

"Saint Weasel," the scrawny blond wondered absently. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he stared down at her in consternation. Then a wide grin spread across his freckled features. "I like the sound of that… And hey, how do yah always know it's me?"

"I'm psychic," Cassidy smirked back. Her brain was gradually switching back on, thank God. She hadn't had a caffeine withdrawal that bad since Swindle had held her hostage… and right, not going there. Contemplatively, she resumed sipping the addictive liquid. Of, course, that adrenaline rush she'd had while trying to get away from Prowl hadn't helped matters either. The letdown had left her even more exhausted than before.

Incensed, Swindle stopped up short at the sight of Cassidy, this time with a cup of coffee in her hands. Noting a return of her stench ridden friend, he could guess where she had gotten it from. _I just can't catch a break_, the Decepticon mused, unhappily. More than a little miffed, the huckster's holographic features fell into a rare frown. _Here I am, doing everything short of waving my avatar's arms and hooting like a maniac, and I can't even get her attention! What's worse, every time I think I've finally gained her notice, something else distracts her primitive organic processor, and I'm treated as if I don't even exist!_ The con abruptly paused in thought. _A courting male of the Human species needs to have bright coloration in order to attract a female… but perhaps my outer covering isn't obvious enough?_ Filled with a new sense of determination, he accessed his holographic programming and made a slight adjustment. Then he proudly waded his way through the surrounding organic herds.

'Finally,' Cass realized with a sense of almost giddy relief. 'The caffeine is beginning to take effect. No headache, I can think, and it's even starting to drown out the stench of Weasel's lucky coat!' Just as she was taking another grateful sip, it happened. Something so blindingly orange that it was practically radioactive jumped out in front of her like a jack in the box.

Doing his best to contain his exasperation, and making sure his suit was more than visible, he declared, "Hi, there! My name is Chester!" As he gazed at the positively stunned expression on the small organic's face, he couldn't help but gloat. _Yes_, he silently crowed. _I knew it would be as easy as Pi to access her primitive mating protocols! Now she'll swoon in my arms and…_ The bell rang for class. It was instant pandemonium as every Human in the immediate vicinity scattered for first period. Swindle didn't know what hit him. One minute, he was standing in front of the key component to his next major sale, the next he was muscled out of the way like so much garbage. Letting out an enraged squawk of protest, the sales-mech fought to get through all this organic insanity… and was ignored.

Cass stood frozen in mid-drink. Slowly, she took the cup away and gave it a suspicious look. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She sniffed it, just to make sure. Nope, it was just plain, old-fashioned American Joe. Still attempting to blink away the afterimage of blinding orange that was still burned into the back of her retinas, the brunet cleared her throat. "Er… Weaz," she hesitantly began. "What did yah say you put into this coffee?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing else is in it, Cass," Weasel cheerfully replied. The blond had just noticed Titania, the captain of the women's basketball team, was walking by. Sigh. Absolutely gorgeous… too bad she had a habit of beating guys like him up. But that was okay. He knew that all those times she had stuffed him in a trashcan or locked him in his gym locker, she hadn't meant it. More than a little dreamy eyed, he absently inquired, "Why do yah ask?"

"Mmph," Cassidy replied, taking another gulp of congealing coffee. Teacher's fair wasn't the best, but it worked for emergencies. Weasel was a genius for getting this for her before class started. When her throat cleared, she continued. "I just think I'm seeing things. Could swear an orange road-cone popped out of nowhere and said hello."

Mystified, Weasel repeated, "Orange road cone?" Torn away from his girl ogling, the blond puzzled over her description. His first clue might have been the almost radioactive orange glow coming off of a certain holographic zoot-suit, or the drowned out protests of a thwarted sales-mech as he tried to wade through the first period rush to class. "Oh," the blond exclaimed as the proverbial light-bulb went off. With the ease of years of familiarity, the thief grabbed Cassidy's hand and began leading her to her first class. "That's just the new kid everybody's talking about. I hear he's homeschooled…"


	5. Chapter 5

Counterfeit

Chapter 5: Close Tail

By: Mooncrossed

_Many thanks go out to Griff and Weasel, whose computer expertise ensured that this chapter would see the light of day, to my parents for helping me, and to God for giving me the inspiration. A heartfelt thank you goes out to writergurl616 (Yep, Swindle is a little awkward, isn't he? Glad you liked it), to XxshadowfangxX (happy I made you laugh), to 16 silvermoon 16 (Yes, sadly, even 'Cons have their awkward teenage moments. Thanks for the energon cookie), to Noella50881 (thank you), to Bumblebeecamaro38 (Yeah, Swindle does have a lot to learn, and Prowl has issues… Glad you like it), and to hawkgirl230 (yep, Swindle's outfit is eye-catching. Happy you're enjoying the story). I realized just a little too late that I hadn't included a disclaimer for the three movies I mentioned in the previous chapter. So, here it goes: I don't own Grease, Sky High, or High-School Musical. Please do not sue me, I beg of you! None of the names used in this are actual people, any names that might match someone is purely a coincidence. Whew, glad that's done. As for this chapter, I don't own Transformers, Amber Alert, Wonder Woman, Barbie, Erector-Set, Formica, Starbucks, The Simpsons, or Frisbee. And now, on with the story!_

_In an undisclosed nearby cave system…_

The life of an alien warlord had its perks. For instance, there was the constant worship and affection from his acolytes. Lying prostrate in front of him, his pockmarked and scarred frame a testament to the battles he had fought, was Lugnut. As he opened his mouth to, yet again, shout about his master's accomplishments and power, he demonstrated his strongest attribute: loyalty. Crimson optics lit up to blood red as Megatron saw something of interest stalking silently out of the shadows. "Ah, my loyal third in command," their leader intoned. Lugnut stuttered into silence, giving the newcomer a jealous glower. Soundwave was young, his armor shiny from a lack of battle experience and his talents untested. Yet, there were some very valuable reasons for taking him on. Coldly methodical and deadly, he was the most powerful telepath they had ever discovered. Coming forward, he dropped to one knee as Megatron inquired, "How goes the plot to overthrow the Autobots in their own base?"

"Operation: unsuccessful," the soldier droned, not looking up. A transparent holographic display appeared between them, showing an image of a washing machine spewing soap bubbles like an erupting volcano. Images switched to reveal the underground excavation of their spy center, dripping with foul looking water. Drones sputtered and fell down in the invasive mess. The image changed a final time, to showcase the organically constructed washing machine. Cameras zeroed in on one particular portion of the frame, to reveal a small adolescent fleshling. For a brief instant, the camera froze, capturing her in the middle of a fierce snarl, her broom handle held aloft in battle against the malfunctioning equipment. Then the image expanded again and went back to normal speed in time for a spectacular explosion. "Reason: outside interference."

"Interesting," Megatron intoned. As further imagery proceeded to play, instances of the Autobot base experiencing flickering lights, equipment failures, and unexplainable occurrences, a slow smile grew along his faceplates. "It looks as if this 'Cassidy,' just might prove to be useful…"

_Meanwhile, in a local high school…_

First period… Cassidy had been anticipating this moment just as much as she'd been dreading it. As classrooms went, it was fairly ordinary. Industrial strength purple carpeting was on the floor, older than her father and stained black, grey, and brown. On the far wall was a rough brick wall with a white-board, while an oversized teacher's desk was crammed into one corner. Every square inch of remaining space was occupied with teenagers. There were nine rows of desks stretching to the back of the room, and nearly every single one was occupied. They were also all staring at her. News of her alien abduction had spread like wildfire, thanks to the Amber Alert System. Unfortunately, Cass was one of the unfortunate few with a chair in the front row!

Already, the whispers were starting. As she trudged around the side of the room, past jocks, cheerleader wannabe's, nerds, techno-rappers, and geeks, she could hear every word. "I heard she got cloned," one buck-toothed freshman eagerly whispered. "The real Nulte kid is really dead, that one's just a copy."

"No, way," a freckled upper-classman hissed. "I heard she was impregnated with their robotic spawn in some kind of inhuman experiment."

"Yeah, right," a jock from the swim-team sneered back. "I heard she's really a robot disguised as a human. They just had to take her back to the mother-ship to be re-programmed; used that whole kidnapping thing as a cover."

Wishing she still had her backpack, either to hide behind or use as a blunt weapon, Cassidy continued on in her march of shame. Thanks to Weasel, she already knew about most of the rumors. 'Five desks… ten desks… four more, now turn the corner,' she chanted in an internal mantra, if only to avoid punching people. 'And, oh goody, I only have five more desks to go!' Now people didn't have to crane their heads around in order to study her. Oh, they were smart enough to shut up when she looked their way. Some people even had the decency to avert their eyes. It didn't prevent them from starting right back up when she was no longer watching. If there was anything she wanted to exact revenge on Swindle over, it would be this!

Raising one bushy grey eyebrow, her history teacher observed this spectacle of humanity in his midst. He was old, easily pushing sixty and nearing retirement. That didn't stop him from being one of the most buff guys on campus. As the noise level rose to near deafening, Mr. Figueroa cleared his throat. "Miss Nulte, welcome back to the land of academia. I'm sure we're all glad you've survived your ordeal…" At the slight tone of warning in his words, all noise stopped. Barely visible on one hairy bicep was an ancient black and blue blotch of a tattoo with the word 'Navy' up above, and 'Seals' down below. Rumor had it that he was an old military man and had served in Desert Storm and Iraq. One thing was clear, this was a teacher no-one messed with.

For the first time that day, Cassidy experienced her first moment of relief. No one was talking and not a soul dared to look her way. 'Hallelujah for scary teachers,' Cassidy reflected, a relieved smile inching across her face. The old man isn't such a bad guy, after all. I'll bet all he needs is a long relaxing vacation…'

"And now Cassidy will, no doubt, assume her normal state of unconsciousness," Mr. Figueroa finished, a barely visible smile flickering to life behind his thick beard.

Any and all feelings of good will vanished as if they had never existed, and Cassidy favored her history teacher with a flat glare. 'Okay, so I fell asleep in his class once,' the brunet silently fumed, plunking down in her chair. 'But that was the only time! It's not my fault I had to pull an all-nighter right before class and hadn't had any coffee in seventeen hours! Who does he think I am, Wonder Woman? If he wants me to stay awake, he should be more interesting!' None of her complaints ever reached the open air, mostly because she was too exhausted. That… and she wasn't suicidal. Fully prepared to be bored out of her mind, she had just settled into a comfortable position: her elbows on the desk, her chin resting lazily on top of her hands and her eyes at half-mast…when she became aware of an odd, nudging sensation against her left foot. When it passed just as quickly as it had arrived, the brunet chalked it up to her imagination.

"Since we have a new student in the classroom, I'll take roll-call," Mr. Figueroa added, giving her a withering look in return. Clearing his throat, he began. "Cassidy Aspen…" A kid with red spikey hair raised her hand. "Joey Belmont," a bored response back… "Kassidy Bertram…" And so, he droned on. Most of the class tuned him out, only bothering to come back to the present when his or her name was called.

Cass was grateful. Don't get her wrong, history was a wonderful subject, it just wasn't the best class to start out the day. She took another sip of coffee and laid her head down on her desk. Then, she felt it again. It was subtle, just the barest crawling tap across the back of her calf… Cassidy moved her leg. After a moment, when nothing further occurred, the teenager relaxed. That's when that creeping sensation came again! Tucking her feet up under her chair, she looked under her desk only to find nothing there…right. The brunet relaxed into her seat with a casual air. Slowly, stealthily, so slight it was barely felt, something crept over the arch of her foot. This time she was ready for it! Slamming her sneaker down as hard as she could, she heard something that sounded suspiciously like plastic crunch under her heel.

"Cassidee Mercator," Mr. Figueroa continued, his overwhelming sense of boredom echoing across the room. "Kassidy Merchant, Charles Morley, Cassidy Nulte…"

_Frag_, Swindle reflected as he gazed mournfully at the shattered remains of his Fifth Edition Stun-rod (batteries not included). First, it didn't work when he'd touched it to the organic's foot. Then it did work, but only when he wasn't pointing it her way! Now the device had gone from high-tech hardware to mangled spaghetti-wire in less than a click. Looking up at the femme responsible for this travesty, his holographic features hardened. This was obviously a job for his Cyber-Snare five-hundred (only three easy payments of sixteen-ninety-five!) Wary of any unwanted attention, he subtly reached inside his coat and withdrew a compact glossy white carrying case roughly the size of a cosmetics purse. Opening it, he frowned, before lifting up a component roughly the size of a micro-chip. Within the bag were forty-nine more pieces of various shapes and sizes. _Unfortunately_, he ironically thought to himself, _there is some assembly required... _The huckster set to work with a put upon sigh.

"Cassidi Roye," the teacher announced. "Jody Rumferd…Sarah Samarth…Merlin Shipley…Herman Soto…"

A pattern began to make itself known to the huckster. Swindle raised one disbelieving eyebrow as he carefully connected two components together. 'Cassidy,' seemed to be a name that was occurring all too frequently. Conducting a brief computer search revealed that over one third of the Detroit High School student population (both male and female) was named Cassidy. The most frequent name occurring in the city, in various spellings, was Cassidy… apparently the entire planet was overrun with them! _Isn't there a law against that kind of thing_, the 'Con wondered. Such a concept among his kind was practically unheard of. Each Cybertronian was a unique creation, and therefore was bound to have a different name from anyone else based on their own personal actions. _Are they all cloned?_

"Lacey Travis," the teacher continued, stifling a yawn. "Cassidy Vaughn… Xabrina White…"

_Hmmm… Well, in the end, it doesn't matter_, Swindle concluded with a mental shrug. _My interest is only in one particular Cassidy, of the Nulte breed._ It had been ridiculously easy to acquire the seat directly behind her. Just a moment's examination of the herd to ascertain which one usually sat there by means of a brief DNA scan…followed by a low level tracking system activation… After that, it had been a simple matter to dose the unsuspecting female with a chemical compound that would mimic what the locals called the 'flu.' Yet, now look at where he was. Sitting there with a high tech alien trap that had been busted beyond repair by the very alien he was trying to capture! Thanks to her, he was out seventy-six credits!

Unfortunately, thanks to the Autobot that was religiously patrolling just outside the school, he couldn't just grab her and run. This was what made a holoform so ingenious. Utilizing it, he could just slip into the organic herds and slip out again without anyone noticing. All it required was a little inventiveness, and a few clever hunting devices he'd retrieved from his alt-mode before class started. He winced, recalling his first attempt at fleshling retrieval. Not only had he failed at bagging the organic of his choice, his holoform had been trampled by the rest of the surrounding herd! How embarrassing.

Now he had to resort to a more overt method: stun and capture! Swindle just had to be careful with which methods he utilized. Even though the rest of the organics surrounding them couldn't hurt him, per-se… they could sound an alarm or two. And somewhere out there was an Autobot armed with some rather nasty Cybertronian throwing stars. He winced, remembering all too well the inconvenience of being on the receiving end of one of those beauties. That particular pain in his aft had gone on his 'Thing's to Avoid' list. Still, he had a fleshy to hire, and he was just the mech for the job! All he had to do was catch her first.

So he began assembling his equipment. It was hard going, especially when he misplaced T-Cog seven and had to spend several minutes re-locating it. Still, he managed, until, with a sense of triumph, he had it! Unlike its predecessor, the C.S. four-hundred and fifty, this model didn't bind up or accidentally electrocute the organic you were trying to catch. The Cyber-Snare five-hundred was a work of art, all shiny chrome and glossy black paint, and it was easy to use: you simply select the prey of your choice, aim, and press the button. Carefully, he extended the rod and lined it up properly with the top of the organic's head. A long drop-snare obediently slipped out of the tip of the long, narrow tube. There was a launching mechanism for those instances when lassoing was the safer option, but, since she was so close, he felt 'fishing' was the way to go. And he had the perfect lure in mind…

She first became aware of it right about the fifth sip of lukewarm coffee. That slow, creeping, barely noticeably movement out of the corner of her vision. Brown eyes slid toward the left to take in this new addition to her morning routine. No, it wasn't a bug. It was a noose, spider-web thin and metallic. Now, normally this would be the moment when most people would freak out, or bat it away, or tell someone… Cassidy wasn't most people. For one thing, it was small, like the kind of execution implement a sadistic older brother might make for his kid sister's Barbie dolls. Raising her eyes, she gazed upward until she could just barely see the long thin tip of what looked like a fishing rod. The line twitched slightly to the left and the brunet followed the movement, only to scowl as she saw what his target was. Nobody stole her coffee and lived to tell about it!

With painstaking movements, Swindle slowly let the snare drop a little further. It was fortunate that this particular organic had such an obvious weakness. All he had to do was carefully lower the snare around her coffee cup, she'd reach to pick it up, the line would snap taut around her wrist and emit a simultaneous immobilizing electric current, and bingo! One bagged alien, ready for transport! He abruptly sagged in disappointment as he watched Cassidy picked up her coffee cup before he could set the trap. _Frag_, he silently reflected, _And I almost had her, too._ Impatiently, he waited for the unsuspecting Human to set it down only to sit up in annoyance. She had put it on the other side of the desk! Now he had to recalibrate his avatar's sensors to zero in on a new location! Working with a remote appendage was so annoying! Recalculating the new co-ordinates, he then rotating his avatar to exactly the right angle, lowered the snare…and was immediately accosted by a magnified image of a pair of outraged, bloodshot organic eyes.

"Listen up, pal, because I'm only saying this once," Cassidy hissed. The kid in the orange zoot-suit stared back in bug eyed surprise, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, and his pole held loosely in front of him. Grabbing the fishing-rod for emphasis (and really it looked like something made from an Erector-Set), she pulled him in close. "Put your little toys away or I will hurt you. Now leave me alone!" Her message delivered, she shoved him into his chair and faced forward just in time to avoid being caught. Mr. Figueroa peered suspiciously at the room from beneath bushy grey eyebrows, then shrugging he went back to the lesson.

Swindle, meanwhile, was experiencing a problem. In consternation, he eyed a device that by all intents should have been organic proof. It wouldn't work! The Decepticon pressed another button just to make sure. Nope, it was effectively busted. Grumbling to himself the huckster pulled out the owner's manual. Aside from a few fleshy skin deposits, the device should have been working fine! Humans weren't that acidic. He didn't notice the sizzle of electricity that arched along the deployment rod, nor did he sense the smoke that began rising up out of the top. Needless to say, when his Cyber-Snare five-hundred exploded in his pixilated hands, he was somewhat stunned. What had just happened? Where had his fifty-one credit sales item disappeared to? Abruptly, a large fleshling hand fisted the back of his collar, and with unceremonious insistence, frog marched his avatar to the exit.

Mr. Figueroa tossed his newest student out the door like a disobedient puppy. When Chester set off that cherry bomb, he had nearly had a heart-attack. Instant flashbacks had accosted his mind of a time back when he had been in a special force team stationed in Qatar, and of the time after that when he'd been one of the few survivors. "Stupid kid," the old man muttered to himself in Spanish as he stalked back to the head of the classroom. "Lucky I didn't put him down like a freaking Decepticon!" Still mumbling to himself in annoyance, he set to work calming down a classroom that had descended into complete pandemonium.

The rest of that hour was the most wide awake state the brunet had ever been in first period history! Cassidy shook her head as she stood up from her desk at the sound of the bell. Mr. Figueroa had done his best to restore order; she gave him props for that, at least. It was just somewhat difficult to focus on the Texas fight for independence when there was a giant scorch mark on the desk behind her. At the sound of that tell-tale hiss, Cass had reacted on instinct before her mind had even identified the sound. How had she known what a fire-cracker sounded like? Well, babysitting Weasel's pyrotechnic obsessed little brothers might have had something to do with it. She just couldn't believe he'd done something that stupid! 'He's lucky if all he gets is a suspension,' she mused, trudging out of the classroom. 'I mean, I thought old Figgs was going to kill him, he looked so angry! If it had been me, I'd be making plans to relocate to the other side of the country!' Walking around the corner, intent on getting to her next class, she stopped up short.

There he was in all his zoot-suited glory, that one patch of madness in a world of mind numbing conformity. He practically glowed in the shadows of the overhang. With lazy grace, Chester leaned against the brick wall, his arms crossed, and one foot propped up, casually taking in the crowd. 'Now would be a really good time to leave,' she realized, beginning to retreat. 'The last thing I want to do is catch that little creeps interest… oh, great!' She winced as his gaze slowly slid her direction and stayed there. For a fleeting moment his dark eyes gleamed in a way she had to be imagining, a sort of subtle shade of mischievous purple, before they vanished behind stylish sunglasses. A slow, smooth smile spread across a face that, until now, had held nothing but boredom. Momentarily struck silent, Cassidy considered this anomaly of humanity in her midst: from his slicked back greaser hair style, to his louder than loud garments of checkered neon orange. That kind of defiance against common convention was almost poetic. Of course, then he had to ruin it all by opening his mouth.

"Hello there," he grinned at her, his voice full of innuendo. Rolling her eyes, she turned and walked away. Swindle wasted no time in following her. "I know what you're thinking! You're thinking, what was he doing with such a fantastic invention? What was he trying to do with it that caused such an unfortunate accident? Well, have no fear, I'm happy to offer you any explanation you want…"

"Why don't yah try this on for size," Cassidy sneered right back. "Yah kept poking me in the foot with a mechanical pencil, then yah built a fishing rod out of Erector-Set material and used it to attempt to steal my coffee, and then yah set a cherry bomb off behind my chair! In other words, you're just the world's most immature, annoying jerk! So, before I kill yah and nail your coat to your locker door as a warning to other class-clowns… quit following me!" Turning, she marched off. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy to lose him.

"Look, I realize we might have gotten off on the wrong foot here," he pleasantly explained as he hurried to catch up with her power-walking. She began jogging. "So, why don't we start over?" The brunet picked up speed as she realized he was keeping up. "I'm Chester J. Ivory! Pleased, to make you're acquaintance," he declared, sticking out an open palm. Instead of shaking his hand, as Swindle's research had led him to believe was normal, she ran faster. _Talk about rude_, the 'Con reflected, momentarily miffed. _Even if I wasn't trying to kidnap her, it's still no excuse to be insulting!_ Still, with an effort, he maintained a pleasant demeanor. He'd just have to find a different method at tranquilizing her.

Out of breath, Cass skidded to a halt at the crosswalk. Her school was somewhat unusual, considering that the student population had recently become too big for Detroit High School to handle. Debates ranged back and forth on the school-board. There was overcrowding in the school, so obviously, they needed to build another one. Yet the cost of building a new school would cut into bureaucratic paychecks. Therefore, such an option was out of the question. Overcrowding continued to grow worse and was repeatedly ignored. Then the nation started to recognize Detroit as the leading manufacturer of electronics and began sending film crews to every corner of the city… including the high schools. Suddenly, they had to do something and fast or they would receive a richly deserved black eye. So, when push came to shove, they found their solution… by commandeering the elementary school across the street. Now all the younger kids were being bussed across town (a much cheaper option), and Detroit High School had enough elbow room… sort of. It was a little disturbing to see murals of kindergarteners dancing across the walls in math class, and even more so to see plastic toddler sized chairs and toys piled up in the corners. Still, what the public didn't know wouldn't hurt them, it only meant that the students of Detroit High had to cross the street every other class.

Feeling paranoid, Cassidy looked back. No tell-tale flash of day-glow orange marred the shifting crowds. Likewise, there wasn't a trace of greasy, slicked back hair, stylish dark glasses, or a dusky impish smile. "Whew," she muttered, "Lost him!" Turning around, she slammed into a brick wall, one that was covered in orange checkered cloth. "Gah," she yelped, taking a hurried step back only to trip over her own feet. A pair of hands caught her in a dipping move reminiscent of a ball room dance. Chester mischievously gazed down at her from mere inches away, almost as if he wanted to kiss her… Yuck!

"Hi," he greeted as pleasantly as if they were waiting at a bus terminal… instead of standing frozen on the front cover of a romance novel. "You are so sweet to push the walk signal for me, really, but I don't mind the wait!" As gracefully as the male lead in a chick flick, he pulled her back to an upright position and let her go… standing five inches away from him. Gritting her teeth, the brunet resisted the urge to back away. She refused to give this creep the satisfaction! Though, as he used the excuse of standing too close to unabashedly look down her cleavage, she had to resist a new impulse: one to punch him in the nose!

Raising his avatar's eyebrows in confusion, he watched as the organic sent another death glare his way. _Honestly_, Swindle silently groaned, _What have I done wrong now? Here I am, having a polite conversation, and she's suddenly mad at me! Why do femmes have to be so fragging temperamental?_ Deciding to smooth over pinched wiring, he adopted his let's be friends attitude and leaned in extra close to signify that he was trustworthy. The huckster's smile faltered slightly when she backed off a pace, scowling. He let out a theatrical sigh. "Alright, is this all about the fishing joke? Because, I have a very good reason for that… It's just that you looked so depressed, and the one thing that always cheers me up is a good old fashioned prank!"

By this point the rest of Detroit's teenage population had arrived, packing in close to one another like New Yorkers in a subway car. "Oof," the brunet grunted as some big jock from the football team jounced her forward, unfortunately that much closer to Chester. Continuing to blithely chatter on, the zoot-suiter was apparently perfectly happy with this turn of events. Bastard! Looking left, she saw two cheerleader wannabe's, a nerd, and a techno-rapper. Turning her head to the right revealed seven Goths, another nerd, and one skateboarder. The football player was still behind her… She was effectively boxed in! Cars rushed back and forth without any clear regard for traffic laws or human safety, and throughout it all…? Chester the Wonder Jerk stood precariously balanced on the sidewalks edge, so close to her that his jacket lapels were brushing against her chest, and he wouldn't stop talking! Glaring, she pushed the walk signal again. Anything to get away from him!

When the light changed, Cassidy shoved past him and raced across campus like the hounds were nipping at her heels. She didn't stop until she was at least a football field's length away. Cass knew she was being a coward, she could freely admit to that. It was just that she was going to commit murder if she stayed in that annoying zoot-suiter's company for one more minute, and frankly, she could do without the felony so early in her high school career. Stopping at the top of a very steep hill, she turned her head to survey the landscape. Sweaty didn't begin to describe her current condition. Even though it wasn't technically a hot day, it was humid. The air was heavy, clinging to her skin like a thick wool blanket. Still, it had paid off. Chester was nowhere to be found.

It was with a sense of burgeoning triumph that she drank in lungful after lungful of humid Detroit air. "Thank you," Cassidy breathed toward the heavens. With a sense of relief, the brunet turned and marched into the shadowy depths of the girl's gym. More suited to a dungeon than any high school, it was a primitive affair of grey concrete, bare pipes, and splintering benches. Still, some previous predecessor had done his or her best to make the place look more cheerful. The filthy white lockers had flowers stenciled all over them in shades of hot pink, gaslight-yellow, and faded blue. Over on the far wall was the large window through which the lady gym teacher could observe her prisoners. Rumor had it that she used to be a prison guard for the woman's prison in the State Penitentiary; others claimed she had done time there. Still, Cass avoided making eye contact with the lantern-jawed Girls Basketball Coach as she headed for her locker.

At last dressed in her school colors (brown shorts and yellow tee-shirt), Cassidy made her way toward Coach Smitty's classroom. By 'classroom' she meant a rough section of crumbling asphalt with fading numbers painted on it in seven narrow rows. In the winter, it was invariably covered in a thick sheet of black ice, in the spring and fall it was eternally wet in Detroit's perpetual rainfall, and in the summer it was hot enough to bestow instant sunburns. Still, it beat being stuck indoors. Coach Smith, or 'Smitty' as he preferred to be called, was a large man. She could see him impatiently waiting for the class to start. Standing at close to six and a half feet, he dwarfed most of the class. Add in the potbelly and the perpetual five o-clock shadow, and he was a formidable sight.

"Heads up, minions," Coach Smitty barked, making several people jump in surprise. Every eye immediately focused on him. In his meaty fists, he held two overstuffed mesh bags. The thud they made when he dropped them to the ground was a lot louder than it should have been. "I have nine balls," he paused, casting a glare around the group and silently daring anyone to laugh. Aside from a few muffled snorts, the class remained silent. After a moment, he continued. "That means the game of the day is basketball. It also means no physical contact whatsoever!" His glare shifted from one teenager to another, lingering on members of the popular crowd and sports teams that were well known for bullying. "If I see so much as one foul, your team is running laps for the rest of the period! Now move!"

Personally, she didn't understand why everyone hated Coach Smitty so much. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges, and okay, he did tend to bestow laps around the football field like free candy at a Halloween carnival… and the bloodthirsty adoration he had for violent sports tended to be a little disturbing… But overall, he was a pretty decent guy! Shaking off her own rambling thoughts, Cassidy began doing a few stretches to warm up. Now was the time to run her butt off, attempt to cream her fellow classmates in sports, and fight until she collapsed in a puddle of her own sweat. In other words, it was the one moment in the day when she could relax. At least she'd managed to lose the creep in the orange zoot-suit. Bending down until her fingers just barely brushed over the tops of her dirty yellow sneakers, she took a moment to enjoy the burn in her tendons.

"Excuse me," a familiar smooth voice inquired pleasantly. "I hate to interrupt, but is this Coach Smith's class?" This inquiry was followed by her Phys. Ed. teacher growling something unintelligible, followed by a gruff order to find a spot and sit.

Cassidy froze. Every muscle taut to the point of cramping, the seventeen-year-old squeezed her eyes shut. 'It couldn't be,' the teenager silently reflected. 'I mean, in a school with over seventy-six classes, and thousands of variations those classes could be attended, what would be the odds? God couldn't hate me that much!' As brown eyes reluctantly opened, it was to see a pair of neon-orange checkered pants. She tilted her head. Gradually, a face hovered into view. One with greasy, slicked back hair, dusky skin, and the widest smile she had ever seen. In other words, it was the zoot suiter… and he was staring at her butt. Closing her eyes again, the brunet reflected, 'Yes, apparently God really does hate me!'

"Well, what are the odds?" Swindle beamed at the femme currently bent over double with her fleshy aft aimed toward the sky. He would be focusing on her face, but that was currently down near the ground. As she straightened up to glare at him, he grinned even wider. "I honestly never expected to see you again today," he lied, rocking on his heels. This introduction was the beginning of a physical educational class unlike any other! Who knew net-launchers were standard equipment in the game of basketball? Technically, since he hadn't touched anyone, it wasn't breaking any rules, right? Coach Smitty didn't seem to agree. Too bad he just happened to be on Cassidy's team. By the end of the period, they'd been forced to run seven laps around the football field, half the class had made plans to transfer to a different school, and period two was banned from the courts from now until doomsday.

English was a complete disaster, mostly because… you guessed it, HE was there. That was why her hair was standing on end like some kind of insane porcupine. It was also why she now solidly hated joy-buzzers! By the time fourth period rolled around, Cassidy was resigned to her fate. She wasn't even surprised anymore. There Chester sat in all his neon-orange zoot-suited glory, oozing smarm and charm in equal measure. The brunet sighed as she passed by his table, well aware that behind those trendy sunglasses, he was watching her like a hawk… and smiling. He was already planning something, the rat!

In some ways, it was almost like a curse. She had done a few pranks in her life… to those that deserved it, of course. Popular targets had been the class tattletales. They tended to be born complainers, desperately seeking attention from the teacher for every little problem in life. That quality, along with their tendency to overreact (a Must Have, for any practitioner of the pranking art), and they were prime targets. Except, now she was the target!

Obviously, this was God's method of punishing her. She imagined standing in the middle of a gothic church, one with gray flagstones underneath her feet, huge arches up above, and stained glass windows all around. A pool of sunlight would abruptly shine down on her and Gregorian chants would ominously begin in the background. 'AND THOU SHALT BE CURSED WITH A CHESTER ALL THE DAYS OF THY LIFE,' God would declare in his big booming voice. Falling to her knees, she would scream in horror! 'Nooooooooooo!' Coming back to reality, it was to see Chester giving her an adorably convincing angelic smile. Bastard! Gritting her teeth, the brunet sat down at her spot at lab table number six.

Rising from his chair at lab table one, Swindle swiftly followed, only to get waylaid by the teacher. The aged organic scolded him for leaving his chair and ordered him to go back. No, he couldn't go talk to friends. What kind of establishment did he think this was? A nightclub? If he wanted to socialize, he could do it with his lab partners! All the most persuasive arguments he had fell on deaf ears, so with a sigh, he followed orders. Good thing he had contingency plans. With a sense of resignation, he considered the organics at his temporary table. They eyed him back. Casting an ironic glance at the male sitting next to him, he said, "Let me guess. Your name's Cassidy?"

"Nope," the teen answered with barely the twitch of a smile on an otherwise emotionless face. "The name is Wyatt." Then he was back to being serious, or perhaps he was just bored. He was intent on carving ornate glyphs into the tabletop in front of him without being noticed by the teacher. Concentrating, he scratched one last painstaking scrawl into the Formica. At last satisfied, he straightened and put the penknife away. Brushing his overly long hair out of his eyes, he gestured at the other organics sharing the table with them. "All of those guys are Cassidy."

"I see," Swindle muttered as he scanned the motley assortment of humanity seated around him. Some were large and bulky while others were small and delicate. Still more were so nondescript that he would have a difficult time picking them out of the crowd. Amidst all his calculations and plotting, one ironic stray thought surfaced: _I had no idea this species was so unimaginative!_

Meanwhile, Cass was experiencing her own set of problems. As she'd suspected, today was textbook inspection day. "Where is your biology book, Cassidy," Ms. Shanahan inquired in sugary sweet tones. Her eyes, though, were as cold as a December frost. The woman hated kids. Counting down the days until retirement, she did her level best to make everyone feel as lousy as she did. Science majors entered her class with dreams that were swiftly destroyed under her careful guidance. There were, however, a chosen few that she adored. Cassidy wasn't one of them.

"Lost it," Cassidy replied with a sigh. She could just barely see the constant stream of red marks all over the entire page. Shifting her gaze, she longingly took in the lab table in front of her. Would anyone really mind if she climbed up on its surface and fell asleep? By her estimation, it was just large enough for her to be able comfortably stretch out. Of course, there was the very likely danger that some of her more sadistic classmates might take that as an invitation to dissect her in the name of science… then she'd have to kill them in self-defense… and then she'd get sent to prison for manslaughter… So, maybe sleeping on top of the lab table was a bad idea.

Ms. Shanahan tapped her pen, a bright red number, against the clipboard in her hands with a staccato rhythm. "I see," she replied, coolly. "And what happened to that valuable commodity?"

"It's at the bottom of the Sumdac Assembly Plant foundation," Cassidy admitted. Silently, she added, 'Along with my backpack… the Starbucks discount card I got last Christmas… my last paycheck…' This part of the explanation, though, was kept silent. Shanahan was not known for having a sense of humor. At the teacher's disbelieving snort, the brunet sighed.

"You mean to say that your book is embedded in concrete?" The older woman favored her with a disbelieving, fish-eyed glower. At the teenager's unhappy nod, the teacher scowled. "That's ten points lower on your grade for the missing book on inspection day, and another fifteen for the lie! What's next, aliens eating your homework?" Muttering to herself about irresponsibility, she stalked off.

"Next we have," the teacher consulted her clipboard, before her entire demeanor changed. With sudden adoration, she warmly announced: "Walcott Weisel the third."

"Aw, Jeez Ms. Shanahan," Weasel exclaimed with a wince. "I told yah I hate that name. Why can't yah call me Weasel like everybody else?" He favored her with an innocent, embarrassed smile.

"But you aren't a weasel," Ms. Shanahan exclaimed with a girlish giggle, ruffling his pale blond hair affectionately. "You're anything but that! Now, ahem, do you have your textbook?"

"Oops," Weasel exclaimed in apologetic surprise. "I'm sorry, I forgot to bring it! Yah aren't too angry, are yah?"

"Think nothing of it," the Biology teacher cooed. "I won't record it this time, just don't forget to bring it next week, you sweet little boy!" After straightening his collar with all the caring concern of a worrywart mother, she continued on.

"Sure thing! No problem Ms. Shanahan, I won't forget," Weasel called back. Smiling to himself, he shook his head at the teacher's antics. "What a nice old broad…"

"Ugh," Cass exclaimed, an expression of heartfelt disgust on her face. "Weaz, why do yah keep letting her do that to yah?" Similar expressions marred the features of everyone else within hearing range.

Honestly confused, the scrawny blond looked back, "Doing what?"

For a long moment, she stared back at him. "Nothing Weaz," Cassidy at last replied with a sigh. Once the sneak-thief got an idea in his head it took nothing short of a lobotomy to dislodge it. To Weasel, she was just a sweet old biddy that was always nice to him. End of story. The brunet could argue and reason all she wanted, nothing would ever stick. It was best to just let it go… Glancing up at their neighbors, who were all still glaring daggers at the clueless blond, she winced. And it also looked like she was going to have to play bodyguard again… Oh, joy.

From the other side of the room, Swindle studied Cassidy as she slumped in her chair. He only had one more method of alien capture left to him… without going back out to his alt-mode, that is. Pixilated eyes scanned the room for possible witnesses as he stealthily reached into his coat. A harsh, squawky voice suddenly intruded, made him freeze.

"Young man," Ms. Shanahan addressed her newest student, gazing disapprovingly at his shiny, jet-black hair. As he favored her with an entirely too innocent answering smile, her scowl deepened. "Where is your textbook?" With critical eyes, she studied the rather greasy boy with the terrible taste in clothing.

"Textbook?" The Decepticon raised one pixilated eyebrow at this rather unusual topic selection, before noticing the corrosive frown descending over her wrinkled features. _It's cute in an ugly sort of way, _Swindle absently reflected, _How a Human's skin tends to become ten sizes too large as it ages_, _almost like one of those pug dogs that are such a hot sell around here._ Oddly, he could really see the appeal. "Oh, my textbook," he exclaimed, adding as a side-note, "One moment!" He bent down as if to retrieve something. When he came back into view, it was with a perfectly ordinary looking biology book. Of course, since it was a simple holographic copy, he couldn't open it. _And who'd want to_, he reflected derisively. _By Cybertronian standards, it's so antiquated and false, it might as well be science fiction._

"So you do have it, after all," Ms. Shanahan warbled with a sickly, false smile. Then she glared. "Next time, be more prompt in your answers! That's a five point demerit for insolence. Next!" She marked her clipboard, before heading on to the next student, an unfortunate midnight haired girl with narrow, wire framed glasses and a backpack stuffed to overflowing with extra-credit science projects for the teacher. Despite this, she didn't stand a chance at raising her grade. Her hair color condemned her.

_Now it's time for the real reason I'm here_, Swindle gleefully thought to himself as he drew out the final weapon in his arsenal. It was a deceptively primitive looking device, looking more like a peashooter than anything else. Yet there was so much more to it than that. Most peashooters didn't fire nanite-darts. The slightest nick and the organic forgot everything it was doing in favor of following a Cybetronian's orders. There was just one drawback: the energy cells for the nanites only lasted eight hours, which meant his control would eventually wear off. He only had a single shot in the device, but considering the fact that he'd been trained as a sniper way back in the day, he only needed one! Behind the cover of his holographic coat, he took careful aim… and fired.

"Oh, frag," he swore, mournfully gazing at his dart-launcher. "She moved." A few minutes later, a rather large specimen of football player arrived by his side, a dull expression in his eyes. Swindle gazed at this example of Humanity with a severe lack of enthusiasm. Blue organic eyes stared blankly back at him. The huckster glanced around the room, noting how the rest of the organic herd hadn't seemed to notice. What he didn't know was that Morty, the star line-backer, wasn't the brightest light in the harbor. Teachers patted him on the head, gave him an automatic high grade, and ignored it when he broke the rules, anything so the school could continue to win the pendant. It didn't matter if he actually knew the material. In other words, aside from a little extra drool, Morty was behaving like he always did. His sudden friendship with Chester was the only thing that was different. Rumors began spreading around class: the zoot-suiter was off the list of potential victims on the bullying front. Meanwhile, the Decepticon remained in a state of unhappy contemplation as he gazed across the room. _There has to be some way I can acquire that annoying femme… _

Sadly, nothing else he tried for the rest of the hour worked. Sharpening his avatar's visual acuity, he studied the organic as she walked across campus. All of his previous attempts at capturing Cassidy had failed miserably. Granted, he had never actually attempted to hunt any species before... Swindle had simply expected things to go much more smoothly based on the fact that he used to work with her. He knew this Human from her caffeine addiction and aversion to moths, to her rebellious attitude and her stubborn refusal to back down! So why was it so fragging difficult to get his servo's on her? Frowning in thought, the huckster didn't notice the shadow that had fallen over his holographic form. Nor was he aware of the odd looks various nearby teenagers were giving him. It was only when a solid object blocked his view that he became aware of the fact that he wasn't alone. Refocusing his visual sensors, it was to see a pair of glazed over blue eyes and a slack jawed expression. "Oh, frag it," the Decepticon declared irritably, before waving his hands at the teenager in front of him like he was driving off a dumb animal. "Go away! I already told you that you weren't good hiring material. Now, shoo!" Turning with a huff, he resumed his observations of the Nulte girl.

"Yes, Master," Morty droned. Slowly, he turned away to do just as Swindle had told him, only to pause. Briefly, an expression of confusion came over his features. A rare thought was making its way through the mind control paralysis, in the form of a question: 'Go away where?' Starting to turn to ask, he was instead distracted by a butterfly. "Ooh, pretty…" Haltingly following it, he wandered off campus. This was also noted by the teachers but not recorded, considering this wasn't the first time he'd left early. After all, who cared about some dumb jock's grades when the school had a winning streak to maintain? Eventually, the nanites would lose battery power and become unresponsive. Then Morty would come to his senses and wonder what he was doing sitting halfway up a pine tree at the local park. But that was a different story.

_And on the other side of the quad…_

Plopping down on the bench seat, Cassidy dropped her head on the table in front of her with a dull thud. "Just shoot me," the brunet moaned. She felt awful… No, she felt worse than awful! How could anybody stand the day she'd had without going nuts? Swindle was better company than that crazy zoot-suiter, any day of the week! Maybe she could fake being sick? This idea actually sounded pretty good, until she remembered the giant lunatic robots she was temporarily living with. Another moan escaped her lips. Life sucked.

"That good, huh," Griff inquired without looking up from the text messages on his cell phone. Griffin Nolan was tall for his age, with lean muscles, and a certain dancer's grace. They had known one another since kindergarten. She had been there when he'd had to go to the hospital to have his tonsils removed when he was seven. He'd been there during that fiasco in the first grade when she'd accidentally mixed up the words 'dandruff' and 'lice.' There weren't many secrets between them, especially with such an active rumor mill on campus. A smirk flashed across his dusky features at a particularly amusing description of an incident involving a cherry bomb and Cassidy's desk. It was a surprise the brunet hadn't killed him for that one. 'Huh,' he mused, brushing aside heavy black dreadlocks. 'Maybe she's finally getting better control over her temper? Either that, or she hasn't had enough coffee.'

So far, the messages were mostly from people that were excited about the new class clown that had taken the school by storm. One dark eyebrow rose above the line of his sunglasses at the description of one particularly inventive joke. 'And then he got thrown out of Mr. Figueroa's class like a human Frisbee,' a witness gleefully described. This was followed by speculation on how long his suspension was going to last. Over all, the results were unanimous: he was a child prodigy of the pranking arts, or else a veteran that could rival Bart Simpson. According to various witnesses, he was small, dark, and wore the loudest orange zoot-suit on the face of the planet. Every class, it was a new gag, and every time, the victim was the same person: Cassidy. He might have felt sorry for her if it wasn't so amusing.

"Hey, guys," Weasel excitedly called as he jogged up to the table. Unaware of the can of worms he was opening up, the sneak-thief gestured at his newest best friend. "Guess who I ran into?"

Looking up, Cassidy's eyes widened. Trailing along after him, with a swagger firmly fixed in place, was Chester. The grin the zoot-suiter was favoring her with promised hours of unending embarrassment. Oh, he did his best to appear innocent, but she knew better. That boy was trouble. Oblivious to her discomfort, the blond happily invited him to hang out, and guess where the only available seat was located? Right next to her! Horrified, she had a vision of the most awful lunch period in the history of mankind! "Well," she demanded, turning pleading eyes Griff's way. "Aren't yah going to drive him away? Ban him from the crowd? Defend me, at least?"

"Nah," the older teen replied after a moment of amused speculation. "I haven't seen yah this flustered since the third grade! It's good for yah, builds character." Ignoring her moan of despair, he went back to his cell phone. He had a feeling things were about to get very interesting…


	6. Chapter 6

Counterfeit

Chapter 6: Surprising Revelations

By: Mooncrossed

_Hi folks! Sorry for the long delay, but I had extreme family issues, a sick computer, and a nasty cold preventing me from working on the story. I'm not abandoning this if I can help it! I'd like to thank XxshadowfangxX for her review (Yup, when Cass has a bad day, she really has a bad day! Glad you liked it), to Noella50881 (you just might be right), to writergurl616 (I think Swindle's favorite term is 'future employee.' Happy you noticed the movie reference, it was fun to write), to Redtailhawk19 (thank you), for Invisible Viewer (oh wow, that was a truly beautiful review. Sometimes, I begin to think that my writing isn't really very good, and it's nice to get this kind of feedback. Thank you!), and to Bumblebeecamaro38 (Oh, her friends aren't that bad. They've just never seen anybody get under her skin quite as thoroughly as Chester). Many thanks go out to Griff, Weasel, and others for attempting to fix my poor sick computer, and I am forever grateful to Weaz for lending me his laptop. I don't own Transformers, Godzilla, Shakespeare, Frankenstein, Superman, and Mutant Mall Monsters (in case such a game actually exists). Now, on with the show!_

_Later that day…_

As Cassidy had predicted, lunch had been the absolute worst half-hour of her life. It had taken her fifteen minutes to get the mustard out of her hair! 'Although,' the teenager smirked to herself. 'Chester does look a lot worse. Teach him to start a food-fight! There's no way that peach exploded by accident.' By the time the fourth period bell had rung, the zoot-suiter had been smeared with so many ketchup packets that he'd looked like an oversized hotdog. Iris and Harriet, the only other girls in their group, had taken one look at the brunet's soiled triumph over all things annoying before insistently dragging her off to the nearest restroom.

"Honestly," Harriet, a girl who's only similarity to her younger brother Weasel was a lack of body fat, exclaimed. "It's like you rolled in the cafeteria dumpster!" As the school track-star and trend expert, she had standards to maintain, such as her appearance. Dressed in an all white, perfectly pleated, and meticulously maintained mini-dress, with matching boots, she was the height of fashion. Her makeup was carefully applied so that it would present a flawless appearance of innocent beauty without smearing while she ran her butt off on the track. These standards extended to her friends, whether they liked it or not! Holding up a formerly blue shirt, she scoffed derisively before dousing it again in the sink. It looked more like a tie-dye garment, now. Scowling, the leggy athlete applied more hand-soap from the wall dispenser and resumed scrubbing.

"He started it," Cassidy muttered while fruitlessly working on her curly brown hair. Now, in addition to the green streaks permanently put there by Swindle, she had mustard, ketchup, and mayonnaise blotches clinging in odd places courtesy of Chester! Shifting a dripping ringlet aside, she frowned at her reflection. "Ah, ha," the teenager exclaimed, sighting a lump of something green and congealing near her scalp. "I knew I saw pickle-relish in there somewhere! Who knew his aim was that good with food packets?" As she carefully picked the preservatives out, she wondered if he would ever be able to get the stains out of his coat. Hopefully, he wouldn't. An outfit that ugly needed to be put out of its misery!

"Maybe that'll make you think twice before dumping an entire pudding cup in his lap," Iris muttered, rolling her eyes. At a little over five and a half feet tall, with high-heals adding an extra three inches, Griff's twin sister easily towered over her peers. A Victorian style black lace gown with purple trim accentuated her beauty still further. She hadn't witnessed the beginning of the epic battle, but the gothic teen was definitely cleaning up the aftermath. Her voluminous puffed sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of mud and ketchup stained jeans buried in the sink, she cast an askance look at the tomboy currently standing there in her underwear.

"Yeah, well, he deserved it," Cassidy justified, pouting. Accepting a pair of sopping wet pants from Iris, she glumly slid them on. Already, the chill of the air-conditioning was seeping into her skin. She would have been perfectly happy wandering through the rest of the day covered in food-stuffs. They were war wounds, proud injuries to be displayed to the masses! Just as she was imagining strutting past her fellow students, a banana peel clinging to her head and ketchup dribbling down her forehead, a sky-blue cardigan was abruptly thrust into her face. The brunet blinked in consternation. "Wha…?"

"Put it on," Harriet growled, her already fraying temper threatening to ignite. Snatching up the soft, trendy top, the brunet swiftly followed orders. It was that or get flayed alive! In many ways, Cassidy's group was like a wolf pack. They protected one another, hung out together, and even all attended the same martial arts school. Unfortunately, they also had a pecking order. Cass wasn't at the top of the list. Sure, she was tough, and yeah, she knew how to fight, but Harriet was, by far the most vicious. As the only daughter in a family with three younger brothers to keep in line, Harriet Weisel was a woman to be obeyed. Cassidy did not want to be on the receiving end of her temper. Iris was another individual not to be crossed. She rarely fought, preferring to focus her energy in more effective ways, such as plotting her revenge. The Goth's vengeance was a fate to be avoided at all costs. Sheepishly miserable in clingy angora wool, the brunet waited for approval… and waited… and continued to wait. "Hmmm," Harriet muttered, blue eyes carefully considered every inch of her form. Reaching out, she experimentally tugged on one shoulder before considering her once more with a clinical eye. "Ugh! I was afraid of this, the neckline is too low. Take it off again!"

"Okay," Cassidy agreed all too quickly. Noticing the suspicious look of cool amusement on Iris' dusky face, and the rage brimming in Harriet's eyes, the brunet swiftly backpedaled. "I mean, thanks guys. All of this effort you've put into helping me get cleaned up is truly appreciated," she exclaimed, all smiles. And, she was thankful, even if that assistance had been offered under a threat of death if she disobeyed. Now she just had to escape before the pair of them gave into the temptation to put her through a several hours long makeover session. Such was the nature of their friendship. Really, she'd rather run through the winter snow in her birthday suit instead of wearing anything this… noticeable. It was easier to accomplish one's goals when there weren't hundreds of people watching your every move. Barely containing her relief, Cass stripped off the clingy, fuzzy, shedding, and entirely too feminine sweater, and then gladly accepted her sopping wet tee-shirt back. It was now partially dry, thanks to being mercilessly rung out repeatedly over the sink, but she didn't mind. Anything was better than Harriet's girly top. She stopped up short as the cardigan was, yet again, blocking her view.

"Now put the sweater back on," the older girl ordered, once more.

"But, Harry," Cassidy whined pathetically.

"Can-it," Harriet snapped. "I don't want to hear about it! And if you get that cardigan in any way stained, ripped, or mauled, I'll 'mall' you." The older girl smirked as her double entendre hit it's mark. Cassidy was suitably terrified. An epic shopping session with Weasel's sister was grueling, often visiting multiple stores over and over again until her feet threatened to fall off! She'd sooner face down a fleet of psychotic aliens than go through that little torture. Pulling on the sweater, she glared at the pair of them in defeat as she buttoned it up. Maybe she could hide it away somewhere for safe keeping? At last satisfied, the three of them headed out the door and went to their separate classes. Arriving at the massive theater building, the teen circled around the back. As quietly as a ghost, she slipped through a rarely used side-door. Decades of dusty shadows and stale air greeted her, and she paused a moment to soak it all in. Distant voices whispered and gave off echoed laughs straight out of an old horror movie. Eagerly, she followed the sounds out to the stage-proper where all of her fellow actors were. She loved the old theater, with its spooky acoustics and gossipy actors. 

Three sharp claps made everyone jump and turn around. Standing just barely over five feet tall, with cut-off jeans and a ragged tank top, Misty Tannon looked nothing like an adult, let alone a teacher. "Alright people," she called out, flashing a cheerful dimpled smile. "Let's get this show started! Line up in two rows facing each other. Come on, don't be shy. This isn't ballroom dancing… That's it." Strolling along, the strawberry blond surveyed her troops. 'Hmm, so Leroy is absent again,' she silently reflected. 'Probably another allergy attack. And Cassidy's back!' A wide grin spread across her freckled features as she recognized the familiar brunet. It was nice to see her alive and kicking after her ordeal. There she was standing in the middle of the line… with all of her fellow students keeping a minimum distance of three feet from her. The teacher's smile slipped slightly. "I said line up!" Those nearest the unofficial pariah slowly edged three inches nearer and stopped.

Ms. Tannon rolled her eyes, but let it slide. "Okay, class," she announced. "I want all of you to take a deep breath and raise your arms in the air at the same time." A few of the newer students hesitated, but eventually complied when they saw everyone else doing it. In drama class, you had to stay sharp. Often times, the cues to leap into a scene happened at a moment's notice. Taking a deep, exaggerated breath, she raised her arms like a gorilla she'd seen at the local zoo and held the position for a heartbeat, then let it all out like she was trying to blow out her great-grandma's birthday candles. Startled laughter was her reward. It didn't hurt to include a little humor to loosen everyone up, but she also had another, much sneakier reason for doing it. 'Nope,' she mused silently. 'Cassidy's deodorant hasn't failed… So, why would they be avoiding her like that?'

"Alright, troops," Ms. Tannon barked, in imitation of a drill sergeant she had seen on television. "Today, we are going to start with the mirror exercise." Smiles grew all around the room. "And I can see that some of you remember that one. For those of you that don't, here are the rules. Anything your partner does, you have to imitate at the same time. This includes facial expressions, gestures (keep it clean), and physical movements. Mainly, the goal is to make it look like a mirror image. The best ones will get to perform it for the rest of the class and get bonus points! Begin!" It was instant pandemonium as burgeoning actors practically tackled one another in their efforts to secure the best co-stars. There was just one thing wrong with this picture… Cassidy was still alone. Misty's features creased in an odd combination of confusion and sympathy as the best actress in the class was abandoned like yesterday's tabloids.

Cass knew what was coming, and a swift glance around the stage only verified it. All that was left was her… and Misty. Oh, don't get her wrong, Ms. Tannon was wonderful, one of the coolest people she knew, in fact. That didn't change the fact that she was being branded as… a teacher's pet! The brunet repressed a shudder. It didn't matter if the reason was good or bad, being paired off with the teacher for any activity was to be avoided like the plague. Actors were by nature, a superstitious lot. Cassidy had gone through the terrible bad luck of getting abducted by aliens. Until it was ascertained whether or not she was jinxed, the rest of the drama class was giving her a wide berth. A swift glance around located Weasel on the other side of the stage with Griff, pretending they were monsters in a cheesy horror film. Probably Godzilla… the traitors! At least Weasel had the temerity to offer her an apologetic shrug. Why did Iris choose today, of all days, to skip class?

Sighing in resignation, she turned, only to be confronted by the drama teacher. The woman stood in an exaggerated tough-guy pose, with her feet wide spread, an imaginary giant barbell in her hands, and a grimace of agonized testosterone on her features. Cassidy copied her with an expression of long-suffering. Together, they lifted the increasingly heavy imaginary object higher and higher. Just for the fun of it, the brunet added deep heaving breaths and let her tongue hang out like a panting dog. Ms. Tannon imitated her with shameless enthusiasm. Did she mention this was her favorite teacher?

In retaliation, Misty threw a monkey wrench into the works… literally. Pretending to shove one end of the 'Barbell' into an imaginary wall, she proceeded to twist it in imitation of some kind of gargantuan tool. Not hesitating, the teenager copied her, movement for movement. Cassidy then paused a moment to wipe the equivalent of a bucket's worth of fake sweat from her forehead and the drama teacher matched her movements perfectly. It was in the midst of this imitated action that Ms. Tannon softly inquired, "What's going on, Cass?"

For an infinitesimal moment, the seventeen year old froze. Then it was back to the actor's game as if nothing had happened. Pretending to get the giant monkey wrench stuck, Cassidy pushed and strained, all the while thinking over her response. It was considered okay to have a conversation provided it didn't rise above a whisper… the subject matter was what made her balk. She doubted that the teacher was alluding to anything as mundane as politics or the latest clothing fad. In the brunet's experience authority figures needed to be kept at a distance, so she opted for her favorite standby: clueless innocence. Equally softly, she tossed back, "What do yah mean, teach?"

Misty scoffed at that, though she didn't break character. Instead, she pulled so hard on the imaginary monkey-wrench of doom that she toppled to the ground in a comical heap. Of course, Cassidy had no choice but to follow suit. The pair blinked in mock befuddlement as if their characters had never heard of the concept of gravity. "You know exactly what I mean, Cassidy," Misty replied, sotto voiced. "Are you alright? That was a terrible experience that you went through, and you just seem… depressed."

"I'm not," Cassidy replied abruptly. "This just isn't a very good day for me, that's all." To forestall the usual endless stream of useless platitudes, such as: "If you need anyone to talk to…," and "You aren't alone…," she increased the difficulty of the exercise. Pretending to finally recognize the presence of that oh-so-massive tool, her mouth dropped open in awe. Then, gawking at the ground like she was sitting on top of a gold mine, she added the coup-de-grace. With her features scrunched up in the perfect imitation of an upset toddler, she proceeded to 'bawl her eyes out.' Misty didn't disappoint her. In perfect unison, the drama teacher silently wailed to the high heavens over her misfortune. 'And it does her some good, too,' Cassidy reflected, happily. 'There's nothing quite so humbling as being forced to throw a mock tantrum in the middle of your own high-school drama class!' She could see a few of her fellow actors beginning to stare. 'Ha, that'll show her.' Cassidy silently crowed. It was as she was gazing around the room at her growing audience that she came nose to nose with… Her eyes bugged out as she abruptly yelped, "CHESTER?!"

"Hey, no need to shout, sweetheart," the zoot-suited teen winced a smile even as he looked her up and down. "I'm right here." The evidence of organic fuel stained her clothing from head to toe, courtesy of their little disagreement half an hour ago. _And it began so innocently, too_, Swindle reflected with a spark-felt sigh. Armed with his favorite stun gun, the Decepticon had been perfectly happy to let the device warm up. Just one little dose would knock her out for hours. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about it sooner. It had been the perfect shot, too… until the ripe peach she was holding got in the way. Lifting it to her mouth, it was just in time to catch an electrical burst faster than her species could comprehend. Instant peach pulp drenched the table, the foliage, and Cassidy. Time had stood still for an eternal minute. That was the moment Cassidy had snapped.

Snatching up an opened pudding container, she upended it over his holographic lap just as he'd been relaxing his force-fields. Swindle remembered sitting there in a state of frozen shock. Feeling goop, organic in nature, as it dribbled cold and congealing past every internal sensor, had not been fun. It slithered over hyper-tuned monitoring equipment and oozed through his favorite stun gun. With a chill plop it finally landed… right into the open container of sixty-seven credit energy cartridges hidden within his holographic feet. Again, the universe stood still, this time in outraged shock. He was willing to admit, now that it was all over, that he might have overreacted. Who wouldn't, considering all of the costly weapons she had just ruined? So he'd felt perfectly justified when he had dumped a full container of chocolate milk over her head. Then it became complete pandemonium. _At least she's covering up the worst of it_, the 'Con reflected, recognizing the fluffy sweater one of the other organic femmes must have loaned her. From her slightly damp curly brown hair, to her ripped and torn clothes (courtesy of Prowl), Swindle studied her appearance. "Gotta tell you, kiddo, if I'd known you'd miss me this much, I'd have shown up sooner…" Turning to the nearby teacher, he raised one inquiring eyebrow. "Ms. Tannon? I was told I would have to talk to you if I wanted to enter your class this late in the year."

"Well," Misty began. "I'm sorry to say that I already have all the students this class can handle…" She hesitated as her gaze traveled along padded neon orange checkered shoulders and matching baggy pants. The tie distracted her the most, though. It was a shiny shade of metallic green with a geometric pattern that seemed to be designed to give headaches. Forcing herself to focus on his face, she melted a little at the sight of the most heartbreaking kicked puppy expression she had ever seen. A frown of sympathy came over her features.

"Oh, please, Ms. Tannon," he begged in heartrending tones. Folding his hands together, he gazed up at her imploringly. "I've just always wanted to be an actor, and this is the only free period I have!"

"I really wish I could, but it's against school policy to have more than thirty-one students, and I…," then she paused. Thoughtful blue eyes turned in a certain teenager's direction. Hadn't she just been thinking about how unfair it was to always have an uneven number of students? There was always one kid left in the lurch. Either Weasel or Cassidy always got left out in the cold, a true waste of their talents. Surely she could fudge a number or two to include just one more student?

In the midst of slapping the dust off of her jeans, Cassidy wasn't at first aware of the direction their conversation was headed. She had noticed the state of near awe that had descended over the theater, though. Rumors circulated fast in a theater troop, and those not in the know were swiftly being filled in. His name was Chester J. Ivory and he was the best prankster in the history of Detroit High School! He'd been home-schooled (obviously), was a new arrival from the mid-west, and he was already a favorite of the Popular Crowd. Hushed whispers filled the room as the students slacked off to observe this unexpected celebrity visit. All of this meant absolutely nothing to Cass. Rolling her eyes at his shameless attempts to butter up the teacher, she focused on stretching. 'Give it up, pal,' she mused with an annoyed huff. 'Misty practically invented the kicked-puppy routine. She could do it in her sleep!' That's when she got that feeling, that disquieting sensation that trouble was heading her way. The hair prickling along the back of her neck, she abruptly matched eyes with the drama teacher. 'No, there's absolutely no way she's actually falling for that kind of ruse…'

"Cassidy," Misty began. "As you know, we have the talent competition coming up… The one involving excerpts from Shakespeare. And you're the only one without a permanent partner." With a grand sweeping flourish taken straight off Broadway, she gestured toward the zoot-suiter. Playing along, he bowed as if to royalty. When he came back up, it was with a wink and the widest smirk she'd ever seen. "I would like to introduce you to your new co-star: Chester J. Ivory!"

'Noooooooooo,' the brunet internally screamed. The bastard actually had the audacity to wink at her! Cassidy stalked toward the zoot-suiter, whether it was to strangle him or knock him unconscious, she hadn't yet decided. That was when a script abruptly blocked her view. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, the title proudly proclaimed, followed by a list of characters. Titania and Oberon were highlighted in bright yellow marker. Chester was already looking over his copy with that same infuriating permanent smile on his dusky features. 'Aargh!'

"Somehow, I think these roles will be perfect for you two," Ms. Tannon declared with no room for argument. She caught the sour look on Cassidy's features and rolled her eyes. "It's the last script with a female character, and besides, you need to widen your repertoire. Don't worry. I'm sure Chester will help you every step of the way." Satisfied she had settled the matter, the theater teacher headed to another section of the stage to offer tips on how to portray a more believable ogre… at least, that's what it looked like Griff and Weasel were imitating. Maybe they were trying to be a new interpretation of Frankenstein?

Donning his holographic sunglasses again, he smirked at the human he would hopefully have safely hired before the day was out. The Decepticon was simply fed up with the entire ordeal. _Who knew hiring one measly organic would be this difficult, _he reflected with a huff. _Have an easier time pulling teeth out of a sharkicon's mouth. _That was when Swindle found himself slammed into a shadowy corner behind the curtains.

"Listen up, Hon, because I'm only saying this once," Cassidy hissed with chilling softness into his avatar's ear. "Leave me alone!" Glaring daggers at him, daring him to try anything, she waited for a response. And Chester…well… He just stood there. The zoot-suiter didn't flinch, or blink, or even look vaguely uncomfortable despite the fact that she had an arm pressed to his throat. All he did was continue to favor her with that same wide smile. Aargh!

Swindle was at a momentary loss as to how he should proceed. Oh, don't get him wrong, he had experience with these kinds of 'misunderstandings' all the time… It was just that they tended to be at the servos of fellow Cybertronians, not organics. And there was usually a high powered blaster included in the threats… or a sword… then there was that one time with that mech with the sonic grenade…

The point was, as menacing encounters went, this was pathetic. She wasn't even armed! If he wanted to, he could have thrown her across the theater hard enough to demonstrate exactly why Decepticons tended to call organics 'squishies.' Or he could tear out of her grip and race to the other side of the building before she could even blink. Then there was the option of shutting down the force-field portion of his avatar and walking around as a simple ghostlike projection. There were really no limits to a well programmed holoform, after all. Unfortunately, all of those options had two major flaws: it would alert the organic herd (thus, bringing about the wrath of all things ninja), and might even possibly get the silly femme killed (wasting a very valuable commodity).

So, there was his quandary. Should he act scared or challenging? …Capitulating or indifferent? If he was dealing with one of his own kind, he'd be halfway toward talking his fellow Cybertronian into a more agreeable mood… or else cleaning up the very messy remains of a former dissatisfied customer. He was saved from coming to a decision when the curtains abruptly flew open to admit Weasel.

"Yo, Cass," the blond began as he tromped into the room. "The lights are fixed now, so you and Chet can do… your scene…" He paused as he looked up from his cues clipboard to see an unusual sight. Chester, up against the wall with a happy smile on his face, and Cassidy, her hands on his shoulders standing extra close. It looked like the ultimate romantic scene! Both of them were staring at him in frozen silence. "Oh, you're already doing your scene," he exclaimed in embarrassment as a blush suffusing his pale features. "I'll just… let you get back to that!"

"Wait a minute, Weaz, It's not like that," Cassidy exclaimed, but the curtains swished after the retreating blond like an all-encompassing whisper. Groaning, Cassidy pinched the bridge of her nose. She could bet this was already making the gossip rounds. Just once, couldn't she catch a break? Looking back, it was to see Chester giving her his patented smirk. She barely restrained herself from socking him. Instead, grumbling to herself, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back into the main theater and the waiting stage. He wasn't worth the stay in juvenile detention. "Ill met by moonlight, fair Titania," Chester's honeyed, smooth voice taunted into her ear as a grabby hand sneakily crept along her spine.

"What," Cassidy squawked, scooting out of range. She glowered at the pervert until she recognized his line. Swiftly, the teenager turned it into a part of the play. "Jealous Oberon," she continued, a smile that warned of impending death if he did that again, "Fairies, skip hence; I have forsworn his bed and company." Lights abruptly dimmed to a tone of grey-blue all around them at her words, with a lone spotlight of muted white illuminating her. Weasel was obviously working his special effects magic from the sound-booth in the back. Despite her misgivings, the brunet felt herself begin to relax, growing more confident. This was her element and she was good at it.

"Tarry, rash wanton," Chester taunted with snakelike charm. Emerging from the shadows like some kind of demonic messenger, he took full advantage of the blue stage lights glinted off his slicked back hair. With mocking innocence, the zoot-suiter inquired, "Am I not thy lord?"

"Then I must be thy lady," she answered dryly and rolled her eyes. "But I know when though hast stolen away from fairy land, and in the shape of Corin sat all day…" Here's where things got tricky. Shakespeare might have been a good playwright, but he was murder on the memorization. Taking a quick glance at her script, she continued. "…Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love to amorous Phillida." Woof! And she thought some of the names coming out of Asia were hard to pronounce! It was nothing compared to Shakespeare's Greek and Roman references. Unfortunately, it was only going to get worse. "Why art though here, come from the farthest steep of India," she continued, only to pause. The stage floor was gradually flooding with smoke. Fire? A wary sniff revealed the familiar scent generated by a fog machine. Her fellow students shifted in equally nervous tension until they also recognized the scent. Weasel was playing with the special effects supplies again.

Despite the distraction, she struggled on. "But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, your buckskinn'd mistress and your warrior love," Cassidy continued. Now the backdrop had changed, reflecting a green lit, forested glade. This was followed by light orchestral music and the sound effect of chirping birds. Valiantly, doing her best to ignore the snickering rising up from the audience, she continued, "To Theseus must be wed…" The final addition of light, sparkly, metallic pixie dust raining down from the scaffolding was the final straw. Breaking out of character, she glowered out past the audience in the direction of the sound booth and a certain annoying blond. "Weasel," she gritted out between clenched teeth. Employing an old acting trick she'd learned for projecting her voice without shouting, she growled in slow menacing tones, "Quit…Doing…That." Each word fell with the ominous weight of the first tiny rocks before the arrival of a deadly avalanche.

"YES," Misty exclaimed joyfully, startling everyone in the room. Lights abruptly flooded the room with blinding force. "That's perfect for Titania! The authority, the power, the presence, everything was just right. Cassidy, you need to immerse yourself in that feeling! Try to surround yourself with what makes you assume that level of… pent up rage! Can I count on you for that?"

Glancing back, it was to see Chester bouncing on his toes while giving her a self-satisfied, mocking smile. Giving him a long, slow glower, Cassidy drawled, "Ooh, I can pretty much guarantee it." The only response she got from the zoot-suiter was a raised eyebrow and that forever annoying permanent grin. With sarcastic good humor, she silently reflected, 'This semester's going to be fun…'

_Currently, in Detroit High School…_

Swindle was treating this not unlike a field expedition into the Amazonian Jungle. So far, his foray into the Human spawn's re-education compound was going surprisingly well. Noting a ping on his HUD, he sighed before reaching up to flick a leaf off of his checkered, day-glow orange holographic coat. That was the problem with force-field emitters. Perfect at deflecting a laser blast and amazingly useful for making anything appear solid, but they tended to have the worst case of static cling this side of the Crab Nebula! A smile stretched across his pixilated features as he reached his intended target. "Excuse me," he inquired pleasantly. "I hate to be a bother, but my eyesight is terrible. Would it be alright if we switched seats?"

Cassidy scowled at the blackboard as she listened in to the conversation going on right behind her. Why, of course! The guy that had occupied the desk behind her for the past four months would love to trade chairs. He could even finalize it with the teacher so that it would be a permanent change! Gritting her teeth, the brunet endured the smarmiest schmoozing this side of a car dealership. Her hands clenched into fists as the final deal was set. At the sound of her tormenter's satisfied sigh as he sank that chair, Cass couldn't take it any longer!

The 'Con contemplated his target as he tried to ignore the surrounding wildlife. Humans were a truly invasive species. He had to physically restrain himself from flinching away from an organic that brushed by, shedding skin cells as it went. Dark purple pixilated eyes focused on the human in front of him. So far, he had attempted stun and capture, a little harmless mind control, bait and snare, and the never failing net-launcher (with a handy carrying case and self-loading system, only four easy payments of sixteen-ninety-nine!) Unfortunately, none of it had been effective. What method should he use next for capturing that most elusive of future employees: Cassidy Jane Nulte? Swindle's holographic eyebrows hiked up his forehead when the organic he had been contemplating abruptly spun around in her chair and favored him with a look that started out angry, then morphed into something that he couldn't quite read.

Momentarily caught off guard, Cassidy could only stare. There was something oddly familiar about him. Starting with the guy's louder than loud orange plaid coat, then following it up by his psychedelic tie and girl-watcher sunglasses, the brunet eyed him. Even his features struck a chord with her. The glossy pitch black hair, the too-wide grin, and that slithery smooth voice… Oh, where had she seen him before?

Growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny, the hologram squirmed slightly in his seat. "Er," he hesitated, his grin becoming increasingly nervous. "Was it something I said? I mean, I don't think I've done anything too out of line…" At her continued silence, Swindle's eternal smile faltered slightly. He took a moment to review the last ten minutes of conversation. _Nope_, he reflected in puzzled silence. _I've followed all the right protocols for a normal organic of the dominant species…_

It was with sudden alarm that he realized that his cover might be blown! _But that's impossible_, he mentally protested. Worriedly, he looked himself over. A bright orange checkered zoot-suit, metallic green tie, and hot yellow shirt met his gaze. _No, nothing is even remotely out of the ordinary. My disguise is perfectly, flawlessly, stylishly Human!_ Still, it was somewhat worrisome that the organic was studying him so intensely. Quickly reviewing his options, he gritted his holographic teeth. He only had one shot at hiring her if she sounded the alarm. Gearing himself up, he prepared for the moment he would have to dive over the desk, knock her out, and rush her across campus to his alt-mode, all while staying one step ahead of Prowl. Swindle was so busy plotting out the fastest route (along with any shortcuts he could take), that her reaction took him completely by surprise.

"Oh, the talking road-cone," Cassidy suddenly exclaimed with a groan. She knew he looked familiar, and now she knew why. "You're that guy that jumped in front of me before first period! I thought I was hallucinating or something…" The brunet momentarily flicked a sharp glance at him as she suddenly put two and two together. "Wait a minute! Yah mean I could have avoided all this abject humiliation if I'd just noticed you this morning?"

"Humiliation," Swindle exclaimed, halfway insulted. He did a rapid review of the past six and a half hours of stored up memories before giving her a puzzled, slightly annoyed look. Everything he had done was within proper parameters for a courting male of her species! It was as he sat there, trying to understand a femme that was being, in his opinion, extremely unreasonable, that he had a revelation. She must not have clued into the fact that he was available for courtship! No wonder she hadn't taken the bait! His pixilated features adopting the condescending smile he tended to assume when he was talking to the overly stupid, Swindle opened his mouth.

"You're a jerk," Cassidy interrupted him before he could say a word. Before she could give into the urge to beat him into the ground (and wouldn't Vice Principle Rowcliff love that?), she turned away. Just one more hour and she'd be free. One more hour… The slightest nudge arrived on her shoulder, along with a hissing whisper from the bane of her existence. This was also ignored. Then the back of her chair got kicked. Although her right hand tightened into a fist, she forced herself not to react. All she had to do was resist the overwhelming urge to commit homicide… A paper with her name scrawled on it moved into her peripheral view along with a too smooth voice hissing her name. Fantasies began flooding her mind of the violence she'd love to inflict… the kind that would earn a trip to the electric chair, at the very least. As the bell rang, the teacher regally climbed to his feet and strolled to the center of the room.

Professor Li was a small unassuming man, with narrow framed glasses, an impeccable suit, a slight bald spot, and not an ounce of fat on him. He politely waited for the class to quiet down. Nearly everyone did... except for one particular zoot-suiter in the second row. Still, he waited. Now most of the class was staring at Chester, and by proxy, they also stared at the girl in front of him. Cassidy's features darkened to scarlet in a mixture of repressed rage and acute embarrassment. The teacher turned. Wide eyed, every teenager watched him lift up one hand toward the chalk-board, every finger tense. Several students cringed in anticipation. Others, even the partially deaf head-bangers, covered their ears in alarmed remembrance of a noise that none of them wanted to hear again. "Screeeeeeeeeeech….," went four human fingernails slowly down the old slate blackboard.

He didn't know what hit him. One moment, Swindle was in the in the middle of what he felt was the most convincing 'wooing' of an organic species in his career. The next, the most Primus forsaken sound invaded his audio sensors. It was worse than Grimordan mating calls, more terrible than grinding metal, and it even topped the unholy sound of Cassidy screaming! His remote sensors actually had to be shut down for a brief moment to recalibrate. When the diagnostic signs cleared and his vision was restored, it was to see the math instructor impassively standing in front of him. Not bothering to look in his direction, Mr. Li calmly began, "Now that I have everyone's attention, I would like to request that everyone turn to page seventy-six of your algebra textbooks…" Turning, he began the lesson.

"Well, that was unnecessary," he mumbled to himself, more than a little put out. Granted, the teacher was technically the guy in charge, but Swindle was light years ahead of everyone in the room! An organic foot slamming into his holographic toes startled him into silence. A piece of paper, the one that he had composed his organic mating invitation on, fell on the desk in front of him. Opening it, it was to see words scrawled in angry black ink over the top of his writing. 'Shut up or we'll all suffer,' was the crudely written message. Bellow it was a stick figure drawing of an adolescent organic in a zoot-suit being lynched with his own tie. He raised one eyebrow, feeling mildly amused.

"Now, students, Mr. Li continued calmly. "Would anyone like to tell me what the answer to this equation is?" Upon the board was a deceptively simple problem, if one discounted all the little letters, that is. Several of the advanced students had already obediently copied down the problem and were in a heated contest on who could finish it first. A hand shot up, and the math teacher focused on a small freshman in the back row. "Yes, Cassie?"

An ash blond wearing wire rim glasses, one of the many teenagers cursed with the most popular name in America, obediently replied, "Negative seventeen to the fourth power equals twenty seven abcf and g."

"Very good," Mr. Li approved with the ghost of a smile. "And would anyone like to explain how that answer is reached?" Hands rose from the half dozen nerds around the room in returning enthusiasm.

Pixilated purple eyes rolled in overwhelming disdain. For a Cybertronian, math was as natural as breathing. These equations were child's play. He could be using his time so much more productively. For instance, he could be enforcing his hiring policies of a certain stubborn femme. So what if her mating protocols seemed to be a tad rustier than the average organic? It just meant he had to be more obvious… Noting that Cassidy seemed just as bored as he was, he grinned and leaned forward. Repeating the words that three organic dating sights all agreed were guaranteed to make a human fall in love, he crooned, "Hey, baby… Why don't we get out of here and make some real magic?"

"MAGIC," Cassidy blurted out loud in alarmed surprise. Instantly, thirty pairs of eyes focused on her.

"Thank you, Miss. Nulte," the teacher intoned after a brief look of consideration. Snickering began to surface around the room. Even Professor Li's mouth twitched slightly. "But I believe I would prefer a more in depth explanation for this equation. Therefore, you will have double the homework of everyone else tonight."

Red faced in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Cass endured the rest of the class. Not daring to move, the brunet sat through all the rest of the hour in stony silence. It had begun raining, again. This was the unsurprising revelation that greeted Cassidy as she looked out the open classroom door. Usually, this sort of weather condition bothered her about as much as the local avian population. Of course, under normal circumstances, she wasn't wearing Harriet's favorite cardigan. She grimaced at the thought of what would happen if she got so much as one sleeve wet. First, it would smell bad, then the color would leach-out, and it would shrink. Then Harry would kill her!

There was an alternative, though. She supposed she could wait out the rain. Just hang around Mr. Li's class after the bell, spending a nice relaxing time with the nerds, the bullies, and their new hero: Chester. 'Ugh! Over my dead body,' Cass reflected with a scowl. Noting that she only had a minute left before the final bell, the brunet began sorting through her options. The zoot-suiter didn't seem all that athletic. Maybe if she hopped the fence, she'd be able to lose the guy! Of course, there was the problem of Harriet's sweater… and getting hunted down like a rabid dog once she found out… But was the threat of imminent destruction at the hands of a track-star really all that bad in the grand scheme of things?

As the bell sounded, she was the first one out of her chair… along with everyone else. Squirming around muscle-bound jocks that hadn't bothered to take a shower after PE, ducking under swaying one-ton backpacks, and dodging stylish knee-high boots, Cass made her way toward the exit. At last, the brunet sighted freedom! Cassidy eyed her target. The chain link fence gleamed wetly in front of her, while cars rushed along the street just beyond it. Still, she hesitated. Did she really want to risk the wrath of Weasel's older sister? The woman knew her way around electronic systems of all types, not to mention the fact that she tended to hold onto a grudge for years… A muffled shout startled her into looking back.

Instant friends and well-wishers were gathered around Chester. They pounded him on the back, congratulated him on his inventive techniques, and were generally in a state of awe that he had managed to prank the Nulte girl all day long and lived to tell about it! He was officially their new hero. Cass scowled as she plotted out the best methods to exact revenge… but, later! If Harriet's reaction to an impromptu rinse cycle in the Detroit rain had the potential to make her angry, all the ground up mud and questionable stains from a fight would make her go ballistic. The question was: how could she get out of here without getting wet? Then she saw her solution.

Walking along with great loping strides was a nerd. He was tall, with narrow framed glasses, and pants hiked up to his chest. Held aloft in his boney hands was a truly gargantuan umbrella. Quick as a wink, Cassidy vaulted up over the railing and ducked under his arm. The taller teen casually glanced down at her. Then he performed a double-take, and his features visibly paled as he backed away from her. 'Oh, great,' Cassidy mused, rolling her eyes. 'He's one of those types.' Before he could run away, the seventeen year old grabbed his arm. "Look, I realize this is kind of weird, but the sweater I'm wearing should not get wet under any circumstances. So, what I'm saying is…" She paused for breath and added an extra note of pleading to her eyes. "Can I hitch a ride with you until the next overhang?"

Big intelligent brown eyes blinked down at her warily behind narrow framed glasses. Word on the street was that Cassidy Nulte was the daughter of some big-time mafia boss, or that she did odd jobs for them. Still others said that she was some kind of serial killer... and everyone knew she was a bully. Why else would Tanya be trying to recruit her? Every instinct in his body was telling him to avoid her at all costs, and yet… Gazing down into the younger teenager's pleading expression, he began to feel a sense of pity. At last, against his better judgment, he nodded agreement.

"Thanks," the brunet replied, sighing with relief. In an awkward bid for polite behavior, she said, "I guess yah already know who I am, huh? Mind if I ask what your name is?" Hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow, she accompanied him into the ever worsening downpour. Just in time! Cassidy glanced over her shoulder to see an energetic, completely unrepentant, loud orange zoot-suited teen jump out the door and into the wet. Straightening, he looked around the landscape, probably for her. 'He probably had no idea it was even raining before he jumped out here,' the brunet reflected with vengeful glee. 'Hopefully, the suit will shrink and stain so he'll have to get rid of it.' It was a petty, minor form of revenge she was willing to accept, if only to keep from marching back there and punching his lights out.

"Archie," her travel companion blurted out. Cassidy jumped at the exclamation and gave the nerd at her side a dubious look. "I…I mean my name's Archie," he stuttered. The brunet's expression softened ever so slightly. She opened her mouth to reply, but in a state of blushing embarrassment, he hurried off before she could say a word.

Cursing under her breath at the feel of destructive raindrops, she ran to catch up. 'It isn't that he means to move so fast, it's just those long legs of his,' the teen reflected as she splashed though rain puddles and negotiated cracks in the sidewalk. 'Add on to that the fact that he startles as easily as a wild deer… Though, I guess it makes sense, considering he's at the bottom of the social food-chain. Oh, slow down, yah lanky bastard!' At last, she caught up with him. Grasping his elbow for dear life, they practically flew down the length of the campus.

Even though she knew it was probably a bad idea, Cass risked a look back. Yup, Chester was following her. The jerk most likely had another stupid prank in mind. Good thing, she already had an escape plan. With a quick goodbye to her escort, the teenager ducked under the nearest overhang and ran down the chilly concrete sidewalk. Racing footsteps announced the arrival of… guess who? Biting her lip, she increased her speed. There was a specific classroom up ahead that was her goal. Unfortunately, it was one of the last doors on the end of a very long line-up. 'Come on! What good am I as an athlete if I can't outrun that conniving sissy of a zoot-suiter,' Cassidy goaded herself, all the while counting room numbers. Only ten more to go! 'Just reach Mr. River's class and I'm home free!' Five more doors to go. 'Once I'm off campus, I can do anything I want! If he's stupid enough to confront me there… Well, I've heard the doctors over at Detroit Memorial are nice people.'

She was so distracted by the fantasy of beating her tormenter to a bloody pulp, that she almost missed her goal. Skidding to a stop so hard she almost landed on her butt, she twisted and scrambled for the doorknob. A hard pull and she was in! Very few teachers at Detroit High School were actually nice to her, mostly because they expected her to be just as… interesting… as her grandfather. Caesar Nulte had been a great guy, with an impish sense of humor, absolutely angelic good looks, phenomenal skill in sports, and was a genius with machinery of all types. By the time he reached the tender age of fifteen, he had also become the slickest operator this side of the Atlantic. Authorities finally tracked him down by his Senior year, and on October twenty-ninth, in the year 2031, he was caught by government authorities and taken into custody. No-one was really certain what occurred after that. Some people speculated that he had sold out all of his associates; others believed that he offered his considerable talents to the government. One thing was certain, though, he never got any prison time, nor did he receive a single punishment. Instead, he returned to school as if nothing had ever happened. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

Nulte was now a name that was forever branded. Documentaries were made, news stories were rehashed every other year. They even made a motion picture about it, for crying out loud (one with pointless car-chases, hot actors, copious amounts of violence, and shameless nudity). Everyone expected his only son to be an exact copy, and in some ways, they were right. Her Pop was incredibly talented when it came to machinery. Toby Nulte could pinpoint a broken part after ten seconds of listening to the engine run and unsnarl a virus ridden computer that all the professionals had given up on. He could sniff out a lie in the most convincing arguments and translate legalese like a pro-lawyer. The man had also never committed a crime in his entire life. Unfortunately, it didn't stop cops from automatically pointing a finger his way when the latest major virus hit; nor did it stop other authority figures from automatically assuming he was responsible for every atrocity from electronic bank fraud to toilet papering the principal's house. Her father's school career had been one of the most miserable affairs in the history of America. Now, as the latest in the Nulte generation, it was her turn.

Cass could count the number of teachers that had actually been nice to her on one hand, and that included pre-school. Every school year, it was always the same: the first day of school, they were kind, polite, and helpful. Then they'd find out what her last name was. Suddenly, the teacher would become cold and suspicious of her every move. The name Nulte was tied to Detroit like a fancy noose, thanks to the media. A few inquiries later, and it was all over. Everyone knew about Cassidy! Suddenly, she was at the bottom of the academic food chain. Grades plummeted no matter how high her test scores were, her honesty was constantly questioned, and forget about receiving any help in homework!

In some ways, it was ridiculous. Cass was terrible at understanding computers. She couldn't tell the difference between a circuit-board and a floppy-disk. Her typing speed was abysmal and the most she knew about cars was where to insert the nozzle at the gas station. In fact, she was so bad at it, she was more likely to break a machine rather than fix it. Whereas Caesar could make electronics sing under his fingertips, she was more likely to make it fizzle out and die with a glance. It was a curse! Bullies, sensing weaknesses, tended to zero in on her like sharks scenting blood.

Then there were her looks. Cassidy might not have inherited her grandfather's red hair, but no-one could mistake those eyes, that pout, or those cheekbones. She was obviously a product of Caesar. Thank God she had been blessed in other ways. Maybe she was as short as a fourth grader, but she had the meanest left hook on campus and could run circles around some of the top best athletes the school owned.

Mr. Rivers was one of the few teachers that had been willing to give her a fair shake. He was a baby faced man, with innocent blue eyes, a great sense of humor, and a distinct inability to grow chest hair. The man had an open adoration for Christ, and a compassion for the downtrodden that bordered on suicidal in Cassidy's opinion. It didn't stop her from expecting the worst when he asked her on the second day of his third period English class if she was related to Caesar Nulte. In the brunet's experience, the vast majority of the human race tended to be hypocrites of the highest order. Often times, the worst offenders were the ones that claimed to be the most Godly. Instead of automatically assuming she was the devil incarnate, he had treated her just like anybody else. She'd been grateful.

When Cass had slammed into the door at break-neck speed, the Christian club that Mr. Rivers was hosting in his classroom all jumped like a gun-shot had gone off. Thirty-six sets of eyes glared at her like she'd just murdered the pope. 'Woops, looks like I interrupted a prayer session,' Cassidy realized, panting heavily. The teacher, however, immediately smiled. "Cassidy," he exclaimed jovially as he walked toward her and gave her a somewhat wimpy brotherly hug. "You're just in time for the song portion of the prayer meeting! Here, let me get you a free chair…"

"Sorry, teach," Cass interrupted with a rapid-fire smile as she stripped out of Harriet's precious cardigan sweater faster than Superman. "Don't have the time, maybe later. Could yah store this for safe keeping until I come back for it? Thanks! Bye!" He staggered as the bright blue bundle of wool was shoved unceremoniously into his arms and stared after her in honest surprise as she raced away. "I'll pick it up tomorrow," she added over her shoulder. They jumped again as the emergency exit clanged shut behind her, before looking at one another in silent confusion. She hated to be rude, she really did. Mr. Rivers was one of the few teachers on campus that didn't automatically think she was a hooligan. He seemed to understand though, because he'd simply nodded with a resigned smile.

Racing through the door in the back of his private office (well, private was a relative term, considering he shared the cramped space with two other educators), Cassidy jerked open the adjoining door and ducked inside, gently letting the door latch closed. Just before it shut, she could swear she heard Chester's voice. 'Whew, just in time,' she mused as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Thankful Mrs. Smith wasn't there (the woman truly disliked her), Cassidy hurried around a jumble of desks for the opposite door. A quick twist of the doorknob, and she was back into open air… on the opposite side of the corridor. The nearby chain-link fence was easy to negotiate by comparison. At last, huffing, puffing, and drenched with enough rainwater to drown a rat, she paused for a break around the corner… only to squawk in alarm as a giant metal hand abruptly picked her up like a toy doll! "Gaah," Cass yelled at the top of her lungs. "Put me down and find somebody else to torment!"

Raising one optic ridge, Prowl watched her antics the same way someone would observe a captured butterfly. "Considering I am your guardian, that is hardly logical," he stated calmly when she paused for breath. Although, as the organic proceeded to do her level best to wriggle out of his servo, he vented a sigh. Being a guardian was so tedious. He'd had no idea what Prime was thinking when the mech had suggested he assume the responsibility. Before she could completely free herself, he initiated the transformation sequence. The Cyber-ninja folded down into himself layer by layer, taking care to keep the servo holding her intact, until what stood before her was no longer a tall gangly robot. Instead, he was a glossy black motorcycle… that just happened to have a metal arm attached. If possible, her resistance became even more frantic!

"Aaah, put me down, you sadistic… Oof," she grunted, abruptly squirming free. "I can walk on my own!" Putting actions to words, she marched off, the picture of wounded dignity and suppressed terror. Cocking a wheel in a puzzled manner, the living motorcycle vented another put upon sigh. Then he transformed. Once again bipedal, the Cybertronian followed soundlessly after her. Unknown to him, a thwarted holographic Decepticon frowned from the nearby shadows before winking out of existence.

_Meanwhile, back at the base…_

Rover yawned sleepily as he climbed up to the top of Cassidy's makeshift tire-bed. Upon reaching the fluffy foam mattress, he retracted his claws and stretched. It had been a good day. He had explored a new section of this strange new land of endless rock hallways, found something good to eat, and marked his territory with a liberal dusting of skin flakes. Now it was time for a nap. Nicky was way ahead of him, all curled up in a rumpled heap amongst the blankets. The dress was a one pet snuggle pile and the fruppy was perfectly happy to burrow into the center of it with a happy sigh.

That's when the first clunking noise was heard. It was faint, so distant that at first the fruppy and alien dress paid it no mind. Then it came again, this time louder. Rover raised one frill in curiosity and Nicky twitched a lacy feeler. No further sound occurred, and shrugging it off, both aliens drifted back into dreamland. When it came again, it was startlingly loud, shaking the door with its intensity. Rover came awake with a startled croak and peered up over the edge of his blanket nest. The door shook loudly again, this time causing the wall around it to shudder. Every skin frill standing on end, the fruppy bounced and leaped across the bed, until he dove underneath the pillow.

He'd made it just in time. With a final slam, a small pig-tailed girl stumbled into the room. She was vaguely Warm-Thing shaped, perhaps slightly taller, with orange hair instead of brown. Rover's big brown puppyish eyes considered the girl. Warily, he sniffed. It smelled a little like Warm-Thing, but different. Becoming nervous, the fruppy receded further beneath the pillow and curled into a protective ball. Until he knew more about this new person, he was staying out of sight. After all, he and his pack had followed Cassidy for five whole miles before they decided to make friends. How should this creature be any different?

Unaware of her audience, Sari blinked owlishly in the near darkness until her eyes had adjusted. A devious grin stole across her dusky features. As was typical of a warehouse, the room was huge. What wasn't happened to be the modified bed shoved up against one wall, the shelves shoved up against another, and the theater posters taped up all around. Most warehouses didn't double as bedrooms. For the most part, it was just a gigantic cold room, with one exception. Stacked in the middle of all this unused emptiness was a big pile of yet to be unpacked cardboard boxes. Those government goons had delivered them barely an hour ago. Then Optimus had decided to go on patrol with Bulkhead, Prowl went off on a drive, and Ratchet decided to take a nap. In other words, it was the perfect opportunity for a little snooping!

"Wow," an electronic voice exclaimed cheerfully. "Is this what a Teen-Ager's bedroom looks like?" Shoving his head through the narrow Human sized door, Bumblebee gazed around the warehouse sized bedroom with bright blue glowing optics. It didn't look like much to him. Aside from the monster-truck tire that he and Bulkhead had turned into a bed, she hadn't seemed to have done anything… and the room was so dinky! The yellow scout could tell at first scan that he would barely be able to lay down in such a miniscule space, and good luck finding somewhere to store the CD and video-game collection! Snorting out a huff through his vents, the Autobot started to back out, only to pause. His optics widened. One corner of his helm had wedged into the wood on the left side of the door. Shuffling a little to the right, he tugged again, only to pause. A hinge had popped loose from the door so that it hung at a drunken angle. Tilting his head only made things worse, if the sound of splintering wood was any indication. Finally, with a huff, he violently jerked free.

Sari jumped and spun around at the sound of a giant robotic alien slamming aft first into the hallway outside. Her dark eyes widened, before narrowing into a glare. There was now a gaping hole in the wall in place of a door. Big, sheepish blue optics glowed back, the picture of guilt. "Bumblebee," Sari squeaked in annoyance, her hands on her hips. "Shhhh! We are sneaking into Cassidy's room! That requires stealth!"

"Yeash! I don't see what the big deal is, anyway," the yellow mech complained as he slid the somewhat broken garage door up with one servo. "Every-Bot is out on patrol and Ratchet can recharge through anything!"

"Because we're snooping in somebody else's stuff," Sari explained with a put-upon sigh. 'Honestly,' she reflected in exasperation. 'Didn't he know anything? The entire reason for being someplace we shouldn't is for the excuse to have fun being sneaky. It doesn't matter if there are people around or not!' As light flooded the gargantuan warehouse sized bedroom, the nine year old glanced around the room. Then her feature's brightened into a mischievous grin. "Now, come on! I want to find some cool blackmail material. She's bound to have a diary around here somewhere!" Putting actions to words, the redhead tiptoed toward the as yet unopened cardboard boxes.

Bee stared at his Human friend in disbelief, before shrugging and following suit. Tiptoeing with loud hydraulic thunks into the concrete, he made his way over to the cubby holes that Cassidy kept her clothes in. Long black talons extended from blunt metal fingertips as the yellow scout carefully removed the first organic covering. His optics brightening to their full intensity, he held up a pair of pajamas in disbelief. 'Never eat yellow snow,' the shirt proclaimed in goofy handwriting. The rest of the outfit was covered in stylized amber toned snowflakes. Quirking one optic ridge, he put it down and reached for the next neatly folded garment. It was an all in one pair of footy p.j's. They were bright pink, with stenciled paw marks on the feet and a hood with long floppy ears. "Humans wear weird armor," he absently commented as he also tossed this garment over his shoulder. At the very bottom of the pile was the final pair of pajamas. Solid black, they were tight fitting, and had a matching hood and gloves. There was also a pair of soft boots, a mesh chamois bag, and a rope with a grappling hook on the end. "This is so boring," Bee complained out loud, forgetting to whisper. "Can't we play video-games, instead? I almost have Mutant Mall-Monsters from Outer-Space beat!" Turning, he gazed at Sari with woebegone optics.

"No," Sari exclaimed, stomping one foot. Straightening up, the nine year old glared up at her guardian in exasperation. She gestured at the cardboard boxes in front of her. "There's got to be something embarrassing around here! Like old baby pictures, or a love letter to the boy she's had a crush on since the sixth grade! That's what all the teenage girls in the movies have!" At Bumblebee's startled expression of bright blue flashlight optics in the near darkness, the red-head sighed. "Oh, I guess you're right, Bee. Cassidy's so boring she might as well be a dumb old grown-up. All these boxes had in them were playing cards, dice, drinking cups with false bottoms, weird shaped checkers, and play money! It was a complete waste of time!"

Flopping down on the bed, the small nine-year-old pouted. It was so unfair! Sari had thought the older girl would have way cool stuff; instead, she'd found nothing but old junk. There weren't even any or video-games! And it was while she was contemplating the monumental task of teaching a hopelessly adult teenager how to be a kid, that she noticed a certain slinky gothic dress lying on the bed next to her. Nicky had managed to sleep throughout the entire invasion. In a state of blissful unconsciousness, it snoozed as it was picked up, dozed while it was carried to the other side of the base, and remained oblivious as it was slipped over the top of bouncy red pig-tails and a stylish yellow mini-dress.

In fact, Nicky continued to sleep until Sari was standing in front of her own bedroom mirror wearing it. "Gosh, Bee," the small redhead giggled, her dusky face rosy with laughter. "Look at me, I mean, I look like a grown-up. And it's way huge!" Lifting up reams of dull, skin-like, glossy fabric, Sari spun in an off-balance pirouette. Barely catching herself from falling down, she giggled again. At this point, the living dress twitched slightly, not that anyone noticed.

Bumblebee smiled and rolled his optics ceiling-ward. Okay, so he was bored out of his processor, but Sari was happy. Try as he might, he could just never tell her no. Instead, he offered his own opinion. "Man, is that thing ugly," he commented. "Where in the known universe did she find it, anyway?"

"Yeah, I know," Sari agreed with another giggle. Gazing at her reflection, she grinned in spite of herself. It was just so old-fashioned. Of course, since it wasn't pastel, and the hem didn't go above her knees, it technically wasn't cool. All of the fashion magazines she subscribed to said so! Yet, she couldn't resist the chance to try it on. "She was wearing it this morning… I mean, yuck! It's not in style, even if it is a dress!" Lifting up one too long sleeve, she flapped it like a bird's wing and giggled again.

Now slightly more awake, the curious dress wavered it's feelers in confusion. This wasn't where it had fallen asleep… Since Sari was doing another twirl, no-one noticed. Spinning to a slightly dizzy stop, the nine-year-old struck a pose she'd seen some guys in a music video do once. "I mean, look at it," the red-head continued. "It's just so… weird looking. Kind of old, but futuristic at the same time… and how in the world did they get the sleeves to look like metal, anyway?"

It was while she stood in front of the mirror, floppy metallic looking sleeves drooping to the ground and a pool of glossy black cloth around her feet… that Nicky at last woke up. Long scraggly black whiskers, looking so similar to rotting lace, rose up from the neck line. Pig-tails were so weird... At least to an alien textile, they were. In a state of half-awake confusion, the alien gown reached out and cautiously examined this strange thing in its presence. And who was this new person that was wearing it?

As living lace continued to finger-crawl through Sari's red hair, the young girl's brown eyes widened to double their usual size and her features grew pale. Then she screamed.

_Meanwhile… _

Trudging along the filthy wet sidewalk, Cassidy was a miserable sight. The rain had quit three minutes ago. Left foot, right foot, skip over a puddle… She paused a moment to push sopping wet strands out of her eyes and glared up at the robot responsible. Prowl stood there, a monolith of procedure and decorum. He also happened to look ten times better with only a minimum of water spots marring his armor. "I still think we should have waited for a dry spell," Cassidy stated, before sneezing.

"And as I declared twenty minutes ago, standing beneath the roof ledge of the English wing of your school would have been wasteful of your time," he raised his narrow head toward the cloudy gray sky with an almost haughty air. "…As well as a violation of the rules."

"Yeah, right," Cassidy snorted, only to fall into a sneezing fit. When she looked up again, it was to see the bane of her existence giving her a raised eyebrow. "You're just miffed that they banned you guys from campus."

"I am not vexed by your learning center's parameters of conduct," Prowl responded icily. "Your vice principle clearly stated that my kind were a disruption to the learning processes of your species. Rather than cause a scene, I simply complied." A slight frown came across his metallic features for a brief instant at the thought. Optimus had given clear orders that it would be best to comply with the laws the organics followed, since they were, in effect guests on their world… even if those rules were entirely illogical in the extreme and far too convoluted to be effective. He vented a sigh.

"School ended two minutes before you showed up to manhandle me," Cassidy snarled back while miserably staring at her trudging, rain-soaked sneakers. Another puddle unexpectedly splashed up at her face and she sneezed explosively. "So, technically, you could have stayed for hours on end without violating the rules," she finished with a dripping sneer. Somewhere in the back of her brain, a little voice was reminding her that it might be a bad idea to annoy the guy that had almost played slice and dice with her more times than she cared to remember. A fresh sluice of rain drowned out the thought before the brunet could give it much attention. Cass was wet, she was miserable, and she was fairly certain she was developing a cold thanks to this giant metallic bastard! He was a big freaky straight jacket candidate who had made her walk home in the rain and wouldn't quit pushing her around. With acidic hatred, she continued her internal rant, 'Does he care that I'm probably getting sick? No, of course not! Guardian, my butt! I'd sooner take my chances with a grizzly bear!' Sneezing again, she glared miserably at her sneakers, heartily wishing he'd go jump in the lake and take all his robotic buddies with him. She jerked to a halt as a face longer than she was tall arrived with alarming suddenness in front of her, and she swallowed hard. All of her righteous hatred vanished in the cold chill of reality. Prowl might be a jerk, but he was a deadly jerk. 'Oh, God, he's going to kill me!'

For a long still moment silence reigned. Birds stopped chirping, water dripping off of the nearby trees became louder, and Cassidy's heart-rate sped up to near heart-attack levels. As that icy blue visor bore into her, the brunet felt very small. Any minute now, she was going to get a throwing-star the size of a beach ball in the face. She just knew it! He opened his robotic mouth. Cass winced, expecting the worst. Raising one optic ridge, Prowl calmly stated, "That had not occurred to me." With that, he was gone. No grand fanfare, no groaning of robotic joints, just whoosh! Vanished!

Cassidy was left feeling stunned. Standing there, dripping wet, barely able to kick-start her brain out of the 'prepare to die,' moment she had been, the seventeen year old could do nothing except blink at empty space. Fish-mouthing for a moment, she at last got out something coherent. "Wha…?"

Walking away on long, silent spindle legs, Prowl barely turned his narrow helm. "Therefore, I shall be there to retrieve you at your classroom door upon the final bell," he continued with that oh, so proper British accent. "If you are going to insist on the foolishness of avoiding riding my vehicle form, then I will insist that you do not waste my time by dawdling. Now begin walking again."

Her brain finally catching up with her, she pouted as she resumed walking. 'I've really got to stop giving that guy ideas,' Cassidy unhappily reflected as she shook out one dripping wet sleeve. The massive ramp leading to the interior of the alien base lowered, revealing a concrete lined loading bay that could rival most aircraft carriers. Glumly, the brunet trudged into the chilly interior. 'Well, whatever,' she reflected with a sudden bout of defiance. 'As soon as I'm in there, I'm heading to my room. It will just be me, a warm bed, clean clothes, and no aliens!'

The final door to the rec-room opened and her resolve vanished as if it had never existed. Cass stared. Complete pandemonium reigned as giant robots rushed by . Some were chasing each other, while still more were running after nothing, and another two were crashing into one another! She cringed at the sickening sound of crunching metal. What was the reason behind all of this chaos, you might ask? A wince stole across her features as she tried to search out where that high pitched screaming was coming from, before she located it. Like a giant tumbleweed, Nicky came summersaulting around the corner in a state of absolute panic. Stomping after it, hollering at the top of his electronic lungs was Bumblebee, equally frightened. At high speed, the living dress careened her way. Cassidy braced herself for the impact of a truly terrified textile, only to pause. Was that Sari inside it?

Prowl lunged, and Nicky careened a different direction taking it's helpless passenger with it. 'Smart dress,' Cass reflected through an otherwise stunned stupor. Turning, she watched this spectacle of interstellar insanity as it raced, tumbled and shrieked across seventy yards of endless concrete, (even more than that if the rest of the base was included). This was accompanied by the bellowing of electronic voices shouting directions at one another in cyber-babble and the repeated crashes of giant robots running around in circles. Her shoulders sagged as she realized that her nice relaxing evening had just been nixed. Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she dove into chaos.


	7. Chapter 7

Counterfeit

Chapter 7: Ratcheting Up

By: Mooncrossed

_ Hi, everyone. I hope all of you had a wonderful Halloween. True to the holiday, this chapter started out small and grew into a monster. I'd like to thank XxShadowfangxX for her review (Nicky is one spooky critter. Glad you liked it), to Imaginator-creator (Thank you! As for Cassidy's pajamas... Well, Bumblebee goes to bed with electro-shock stingers in each servo and Optimus sleeps with a fireman's axe. What's so weird about a grappling hook? Grin), to Noella50881 (Swindle is a practitioner of the rare martial-arts discipline known as stealth-sleazing. He can be awfully sneaky when he puts his mind to it. Happy you're enjoying the story), to Dragons Redemption (Many thanks), and to RedtailHawk19 (Never start a food-fight with a 'Con, it never ends well. Poor Cass. With a co-star like Swindle to contend with, her sanity won't last. As for Prowl... He's the kind of guy that takes some getting used to, and possibly a restraining order. Kidding). I don't own Transformers, Mutant Mall Zombies (if such a video-game exists), Spy Thriller (also if it really exists), the Internet, and the book written by Herman Melville (the one involving the white whale). _

_Deep in the caverns of the Decepticon base..._

Rhythmic clanking filled a desolate hallway that had not had visitors for months. Who could blame them, considering that the only room at the end of the deep underground passageway was the monitor room? Blitzwing was a tall mech, with an impressive wingspan, and a wide array of weaponry. He was also thoroughly sick of this chore, and he hadn't even begun his shift yet! Monitor duty was the most boring job in the army. Under normal circumstances, such a dull shift rotation was deemed beneath the notice of high-ranking officers. It was given to grunts such as cadets, new recruits, or the odd troublemaker in need of punishment. The triple-chager hadn't had to perform such a mundane assignment for eons. Then again... desperate times... Their numbers were low, both as a result of being temporarily stranded on this primitive little mud-ball of a planet, and the natural attrition of war. His metallic features, which were a rather pretty shade of blue steel, contorted in a paroxysm of surprise and irritation. Then his head abruptly twisted out of sight within his helm to be replaced with a new face!

"Undt betrayal," the new visage harshly growled, his contribution to the conversation echoing loudly along the corridor. This mech's features looked somewhat similar to the first one, in that they were both angular. That was where it ended. Rage dominated his face, super-heating his metal skin to a rosy glow. In light of his usual emotional state, 'Hothead' was a nickname that suited him well. Memories surfaced of exiled members of their kind, some of whom were even on this very planet! Gritting his dentas, he boasted, "Vhat I vouldn't do to that annoying flier! Aargh!" The second face slipped out of view to reveal a third, final visage. It was startling to say the least.

"Bwa-hah-hah-hah," gaped this new face like a horrifying jack-o-lantern of gleeful insanity. 'Random' was the third and final persona's designation, and the name fit! Gape mouthed jagged black fangs flashed in the dim glow of the overhead lights as he let out a wild peel of squeaky laughter. "Yah," he giggled as he added his own two credits to the conversation. "Not to mention exile!" That was the one upside to Starscream finally getting caught, in his opinion. Now he didn't have to deal with the pompous Seeker and his killjoy attitude! He pouted unhappily as his visage abruptly slid out of sight to reveal the first mech's face-plates. Most of the younger generation of Decepticons came from the very edges of Cybertronian held space. It was a place where one's allegiance wasn't valued quite as much as one's ability to survive. Considering it was where he had been raised, he should know.

"Be silent, both of you," he harshly admonished them, his normal chill expression becoming positively frigid. Was it any wonder that 'Icy' was his nickname? "Need I remind you that our new communications officer is a telepath? Do you vish to get us all into trouble?" Grumbled assent filled his head from one hidden face, followed by a pouting apology from the third. He sighed again. Being a triple-changer had it's share of problems... of the multiple personality kind.

Triple-chagers weren't crazy. At least, by their own definition, they weren't. Three were the normal number of personalities for a healthy sparkling of his breed. The reason for this was simple: three sparks. Cybetronians were odd creatures, in that their sparks had certain preferences in alt-modes. One couldn't possibly expect a flying model to become a submarine, just as a submersible couldn't abruptly grow wings. It simply wasn't possible! Any attempt to deviate from such basic core programming would drive a mech mad! That was where Blitzwing's people were so unique. His particular code-line had the hereditary equivalent of conjoined triplets with every offspring. Three sparks to a shell, three different forms that could be assumed at any time, and three separate personalities! As the eldest by less than a millisecond, Icy was the responsible one. He often had to reign in his younger brothers displays of... exuberance on a regular basis. Like now.

Random (his youngest brother) was hooting over some sort of childish joke, and Hothead (the middle-child) was threatening the destruction of his most prized possessions in retaliation. So, in other words, it was life as usual._ Brothers, if you don't mind_, Icy admonished silently in his mind. _We are on duty! _Of course, this had little to no effect. Also a normal state of affairs. Icy sighed as the arguing continued, louder than before. Recognizing that he would be late if he dawdled much longer, the tall mech resumed his journey. It would not do to keep Soundwave, their resident telepath, waiting. Having a communications officer had been a wonderful reprieve from the hum-drum activity of monitor duty. The mech had taken to it like a pro, installing spy cameras everywhere, even the Autobot base of all places! Arriving at the door to the boring little room, he stopped up short. There, as inscrutable as ever, was the enigmatic mech in question. He saluted, then silently waited to see what he wanted.

"Query." the communications officer droned, his features an inscrutable shield of battle-mask and visor. "Location of Mixmaster?"

"I do not honestly know," the triple-changer intoned, raising one optic ridge. Enduring the company of another soldier was the other trial of monitor duty. In this case, it was going to be the new recruit known as Mixmaster. He was a large mech, with an abominable lack of table-manners and an endless appetite for oil. No doubt, he would have a few bawdy jokes to while away the evening. Random loved them. That alone should be enough of a sign that his company was undesirable. "Am I to understand ze Constructicon has not yet arrived?" The telepath remained silent and staring. _Which, in a way is it's own kind of response_, Blitzwing mused with a mental shrug. Refusing to appear uncomfortable, he instead changed the subject to something a little more benign. "By ze way, I couldn't help but notice how strained you look. Having trouble recharging?"

"Negative," the silver painted mech droned. "Reason: Processor-ache." A long, uncomfortable silence remained in the wake of his statement. Standing as immovable as a mountain and ten times as patient, the telepath stared at the triple-changer.

Before Blitzwing could do something, anything to fill the endlessly uncomfortable void left by Soundwave, the distant sound of rapid clanking footsteps were heard. At last, the Constructicon they had been discussing arrived, venting hard from his exertions. Wiping the condensation off his face-plates from overheated internals, the squat, heavyset grounder looked expectantly over at the other two. "Sorry I'm late," he exclaimed loudly. "One of those fragging drones almost collapsed the east tunnel! But don't worry. Yah got Scrapper and me around to clean up the mess. We'll get this place looking like the Crystal Cathedral before the year is... out..." He trailed off as Soundwave turned and left without a word. Another long stretch of agonizing quietude filled the corridor as Mixmaster scratched the back of his helm. Jerking a thumb after the swiftly retreating mech, he exclaimed, "Eh... what's his problem?"

"Ve have every confidence in your abilities, mine freud," the tripple-changer intoned politely to make up for Soundwave's escape. Neither mech noticed when the telepath paused and gave Blitzwing another penetrating stare, before silently continuing on. Icy was too busy keeping an eye on Random, who thought Soundwave's verbal 'Attack Pause' was a hilarious weapon (_Hah, hah! Does it have a lethal setting?_), and Hothead, who felt certain he was simply doing it to make them look like idiots (_Aargh! If he does it again, I'm firing a missile up his sanctimonious tailpipe!_). Then there was the Constructicon, who was looking less than pleased. Before Mixmaster could voice what would no doubt get him maimed on a processor deep level by the volatile telepath, Icy graciously gestured toward the empty spy station. "Shall we?"

"Oh, you bet," the ground-bound mech exclaimed, forgetting all about Soundwave. Hustling up to one of the only two available soft steel chairs, he plopped down and stretched out with a relaxed groan. "I can't wait to see what kind of dirt I can dig up on those Auto-dorks. You know their base has the worst construction I've ever seen! Heh, never send a road crew in to do a Constructicon's job! Know what I mean?"

"Indeed," Blitzwing agreed, one optic ridge rising in curiosity. Graciously allowing the smaller Decepticon to lead the way, he sank down into the only remaining chair. For some reason, his younger comrade in arms seemed to consider monitor duty to be amusing or perhaps even informative. Shaking his head, he reflected on all the hours of endless boredom he had spent at this exact same chore during his youth. A brief smile touched chill features. Apparently, ignorance truly was bliss. Together, they considered the cluster of assorted live images taken directly from the video-feeds at the Autobot's secret base. At the behest of Mixmaster, the tripple-chager tapped a miniscule image that featured Bumblebee and Prowl. The screen caption enlarged to movie theater proportions on the monitor, and they settled back to watch.

_At that exact moment in the Autobot base... _

Cassidy winced at the sound of something heavy, and most likely made of concrete, landing on the distant floor. And it wasn't just any floor... it was her bedroom floor! Well, technically, it wasn't going to be her room for any longer than about three more days since she was leaving. It was just the principle of the thing! Sighing, the brunet yet again attempted the impossible dual tasks of cuddling a terrified living dress and reading the newspaper. Nicky was really shaken up after her desperate escape from certain death. She couldn't believe they had actually been considering the option of slicing the living garment in half! Jerks. Now that Sari was safely extracted, the giant robots had given up the hunt. As if in response to her thoughts, the midnight toned living textile shivered and attempted to crowd into her lap. There was just one problem with that: her lap wasn't big enough. Still, it tried. Bunching it's skirt like a massive bustle, it crept, writhed, and wobbled, only to pathetically droop half it's body back to the ground in a puddle. Poor alien... That brought up the other problem in her life: Where was Rover?

Frowning in contemplation, the teenager reflected back on her single failed attempt to find the fruppy. The thought of asking her temporary housemates for help briefly flitted through her brain, only to get nixed an instant later. After witnessing the pandemonium of five giant robots playing 'Junk-heap Derby' while trying to rescue Sari, there was no way she was telling them about Rover! The poor little green alien would probably get traumatized for life. Once the brunet had been certain that the giant robots were preoccupied with the kid, she'd gathered up Nicky and headed to her room. She should have known it would look bad. Cassidy's first clue was the giant gaping hole in the hallway outside, to say nothing of the jagged remains of what used to be her bedroom door. Cracks stretched up the wall and spider-webbed around a flickering light-fixture overhead. Quaking footfalls announced the arrival of Prowl and Bumblebee carrying building materials. She'd quickly hurried on, not noticing the chill blue visor observing every move she made. Then she stared.

A giant hand-print the size of a baby grand-piano was imbedded three feet deep in the stucco wall behind her tire-bed, complete with claws. Hundreds of gouges littered the concrete floor in sharp triangular chunks. Furniture and boxes were chucked wildly across the warehouse sized room like a cyclone had hit it... and bullet-holes adorned everything else. Though, what really finished off the picture were the three beach-ball sized throwing stars embedded in the ceiling. Another two giant robots clanked in behind her and began working there as well. One was the biggest robot she had ever seen. He was green and covered in rivets, with pincher claws in place of hands. The other one was that red-white-and-blue guy, Optimus. They were talking in their own language... which, if she was being honest, sounded like an angry cat trying to walk along the strings of an electric guitar. An alien screech followed by a discordant twang from Big-Green made her wince. It took a twitch from the living textile that was cradled awkwardly in her arms to galvanize her into action.

First thing's first: find Rover! One handed, the brunet carefully lifted her overturned tire-bed. Aside from a few dusty pillows and ripped sheets, there was no sign of Rover. Next, she looked through her clothing shelves... the ones that still had clothes in them, at least. Again, no little green house-pet. Now she was a little worried. It was while she was burrowing through boxes, searching for a hint of a froggy face and listening desperately for a tell-tale croak, that disaster struck. No-one bothered to look up at the giant throwing stars lodged in the middle of the concrete lined ceiling. Nor did they notice the thin fissures and cracks that had begun to widen and extend from one end to the other. Small pebbles and dust began to drift down, next. When gravity decided to exert itself on twenty cubic feet of reinforced rock, however, it took everyone by surprise.

"Look out," a loud metallic voice rang out in static laced English. A massive shape abruptly slammed into the ground behind her followed by a painful sounding crunch of metal. Cassidy twisted around and froze. Dark glasses slipped down her nose in disbelief and she grew pale. There was a gigantic figure overshadowing her, bent over in a picture of agony. Barely held aloft on his armored shoulders was the largest chunk of masonry she had ever seen! The thing had to be the size of a city bus! It was obvious where it had come from, based on the ragged daylight now shining down on half the room. Blue optics flared to life, illuminating steel-gray features that were twisted into a wince, and that's when she recognized him: Optimus Prime. Pieces of rock began to crumple along the edges of his burden and clenching his servo's only seemed to make it worse.

Then she was moving! With a shout, she dove across the floor (a squirming, flaring alien dress in her arms), just as a bowling ball sized chunk of rock crashed down behind her. Plastering herself to the wall, she gazed in wide eyed alarm at the scene playing out in front of her. Was more of the ceiling going to collapse? Would the big guy get crushed? She winced in empathy at the obvious state of pain Optimus was in. 'But what can I do,' Cass wondered, before her gaze traveled past this disaster in the making and she came to a new, unhappy realization. 'I ran the opposite direction from the exit?! Terrific! If I don't get buried under several tons of rubble, I'm going to get stomped instead!' Still, the brunet's eyes remained glued to the patriotic robot. A shudder racked Prime's frame and he groaned out something in Cybertronian. This galvanized everyone into action. The other giant robots descended on him like a swarm, working together, lifting, delivering curt orders to one another, until with a heave, the small mountain was launched off of Prime's back and up into the air.

Several tons of concrete landed with cataclysmic force against the far wall, making her wince. Complete silence filled the room for a heartbeat. Then, with a groan, Optimus closed his optics. Heated air came out of his vents in a heavy gust. "Cassidy," he intoned, his metallic voice sounding strained. Stating a question that sounded more like an order, he continued, "Why don't you stay out in the rec-room until we're done?"

That's how she wound up on top of the tennis court sized giant concrete couch, with no way to get down, sitting on her tire bed and holding a terrified living dress. Her furniture was in a rough pile on one side, the bullet-hole laden boxes on the other. It was also why she was reading a newspaper. Why would a giant alien robot read one? That was anyone's guess. But it was here, it was current, and therefore it was useful. In some ways, she could understand their decision to exile her up here. She really should have been keeping a better eye on what the robotic aliens were up to. Falling ceilings were par for the course when it came to these guys. The last thing they wanted to deal with were a couple of kids that didn't even have the sense to put on a hard-hat. Yep, Sari was up here, too. Still looking a little green from her impromptu ride via alien textile, the nine-year-old shivered in lingering disgust. When Cass had coaxed the dress into slithering off of her, the red-head's first course of action had been to throw up. After that, she'd read Cassidy the riot act for keeping secrets. Now she sat at the pinnacle of the box pile, as far away from Nicky as she could get.

Booted feet rhythmically clunked against the side of the box. 'What was the deal with Bumblebee,' Sari wondered, squinting into the distance. 'Ratchet just declared that I'm fine, and really, I couldn't wait to get out of that nasty old med-bay, and then Bee suddenly scooped me up and put me up here! All I wanted to do was help! Instead, I'm getting a time out?! How fair is that? Oh, they might say it's for my safety, but I can read between the lines. I'm being punished!' Squinting, the pig-tailed redhead could just barely make out a yellow shape on the other end of the warehouse sized rec-room. She snorted. 'Well, fine! If he wants to ignore me, then I'm going to do the exact same thing! Instead, I'll focus on...' Brown eyes traveled around the nearly empty concrete furniture searchingly before zeroing in on a certain brunet. 'She's sitting on her tire-bed,' the nine-year-old observed, 'With that freaky possessed gown on her lap (shudder), trying to read a newspaper?!' This only confirmed the conclusion that the red-head had already made: the teenager was hopelessly, boringly, grown up, and she shouldn't be! It was as Sarita Sumdac was considering the monumental task of teaching a fellow kid how to have fun, that she saw Bee's video-game system. A slow, devious smile grew.

Cass was having a terrible time trying to read. For one thing, in the classified section, everything was in fine print. Brown eyes zeroed in on one likely prospect. 'Roommate needed,' the advertisement read. 'Rent is cheap, furniture already supplied.' Noting the price, the brunet then focused on the phone number... or at least she tried. Curious black whiskers, looking so much like rotting lace, wandered over the section she was trying to read. Exasperated, she sighed and pulled the paper away before Nicky could lay on it. Maybe if she put the section she was reading over the top of the dress, it would think she was trying to hide it? Hey, it was worth a try! It was amazingly difficult to find a decent, affordable apartment in Detroit. Twitchy lace-like whiskers blocked her view, again, followed by a leathery bodice. Nicky was being extra cuddly today. 'Well, she has a right to be,' Cass justified to herself. 'After being chased around by a bunch of killer robots, I'd want a little togetherness, too.' As if in reflection to her thoughts, another distant crash sounded, followed by a lot of Cybertroian shouting. The alien textile flinched and attempted to squirm even further into the brunet's arms, bunching and billowing in shivering terror. Poor dress.

"Why didn't you tell anybody you had an alien for a pet?" Sari glared down at the brunet that was currently cuddling the alien in question. As if in response to her words, scraggly black whiskers peeped up at her. Ugh! "And you never did say where you got it from..."

"Are we going to rehash this, again?" Cassidy had absolutely no problem answering questions with more questions. It used to drive her brother Kit insane... And judging by the frustrated growl from the girl over on 'Shipping-Crate Mountain,' it was just as effective on other folks, too. A smirk played past her features at the sound of the other girl's huff of annoyance, followed by a spate of angrily muttered Hindi. She let the nine-year-old stew for a minute before, at last, replying with, "What would you have done if I'd told you?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it on, that's for sure," Sari exclaimed. "It's freaky!"

"Okay then," Cass shrugged. Everyone was entitled to their own opinion, and yeah, she supposed Nicky was a little on the creepy side... Until you figured out that the living dress was just a harmless, lazy wuss that wanted to sleep for the rest of it's existence. Scary alien qualities had taken an extreme nosedive the instant she'd figured that out. By this point, two of the robots had clanked back into the room and were talking to one another in saxophone squawks and electric guitar warbles. She gestured at them. "What about these guys? How would they have reacted to her?"

"They wouldn't have hurt her either," Sari protested, instantly defensive of her friends. And, yeah, so the freaky alien scared her every time it twitched, and 'Bee had been talking about cutting it down the middle, but that was only to rescue her! She would have said more, but one of the Autobots interrupted her.

"Actually," Ratchet said, switching over to English. "While that alien is of a species and DNA structure completely different from a Human's, it does have certain similarities. In other words, 'SHE' is in reality, actually a 'HE." His knowledge delivered, the large Autobot went back to what was really important, like convincing Prime that his idea was the worst one that the medic had ever heard! And there was no fragging way he'd go along with it!

"So," Sari began hesitantly. Her dusky features scrunched up in confusion and she tilted her head. "It's a boy dress?" Stunned, the two girls stared down at the slithery skin-job of an alien in silence. The nine-year-old slowly shook her head. Just when she thought it couldn't get any weirder.

"You poor dress," Cassidy exclaimed, abruptly embracing the wriggly gown in a tight hug. "All this time I thought you were a Nichole when you were really a Nicodemus!" Black whiskers bristled in surprise at her enthusiastic grip, and it deflated like a popped balloon. Then it was suddenly a writhing mess of skin-like material as it playfully climbed all over her. Tickling a whisker, the neckline fell open and the sleeves hunched in a pose that the brunet liked to dub as the dress's 'happy face.' Sari stared with a mixture of alarm and amusement as newspapers flew to the ground in the weirdest play session the nine-year-old girl had ever seen. That was when something small, green, and round bounced free from the living garment. Both girls froze when the 'ball' abruptly uncurled, spread it's skin frills in a friendly manner, and chirruped at them.

"What?" That was the only word Sari could afford, staring down at that little... whatever it was! Covered all over in green skin flaps, it looked almost like a mutated lizard. The creature blinked in confusion, first up at the pig-tailed little girl, then at the teenager. 'Where did it come from,' the nine-year-old wondered. 'Is it nice? It looks cute in a freaky kind of way, so maybe it's... an alien?' Noticing the way Cassidy was biting her lip, as if doing her level best to keep from laughing at her, the red-head could take a wild guess. Scowling over at the brunet, she inquired, "Any other 'pets' I should know about?"

"Nah," Cassidy answered, doing her best not to laugh. "That's the last one." Judging by Sari's expression, it would probably be a bad idea to make any cracks about childbirth. At least Rover was okay! Abruptly, Nicky squirmed out of her lap with a muffled thump and took off, careening and tumbling like an out of control tumbleweed across the tennis court sized concrete couch. Letting out a croak of excitement, Rover gave chase. Sari cringed as the pair skidded past her perch, then gazed in wonder as the dress flared it's skirt and parachute dropped like a giant black jelly-fish down to the distant ground. Undaunted, the fruppy leaped after it, curling into a little ball at the last second. It bounced lightly to the concrete floor. Then, completely unharmed, it uncurled and continued chasing Nicky... right past the two giant robots. The brunet's breath caught in her throat as she watched them warily for any signs of attack. She didn't have to worry. Aside from giving the two aliens a slight frown, neither of them did anything.

Now that the alien pets were gone, Sari felt herself beginning to relax. Tilting her head, she watched the brunet gather up every single sheet of newspaper, put them into order, and return to her reading. Talk about boring! This brought her back to Cassidy's problem, her 'too grown-up for her own good,' problem. Luckily, she'd come up with the perfect solution! "I know what you need," Sari abruptly exclaimed, snapping her fingers. With a smile that barely masked her devious expression, she hopped off of her impromptu seat on the cardboard boxes and raced to the far end of the giant couch. Once there, she laid down on her stomach and reached for something that was just over the edge.

The brunet raised an eyebrow as she watched Sari strain and pull until she had finally hauled up her prize. It was... Well, it was kind of hard to say what it was. Roughly the size of a body-pillow, it was made of gray plastic, bristled all over with multicolored knobs and toggles, and had what looked like a thick black plastic tail sticking out of the middle. Cass frowned even as she came closer to investigate. What was it? With a final heave, the nine-year-old triumphantly set her prize down before reaching back out of sight again. Only when she came back up with a much smaller example of the first device, did the teenager abruptly recognized it. A video-game controller... One that was big enough to fit giant sized hands!

Cassidy's brown eyes widened even as she hurriedly backed away. Don't get her wrong, video-games were a wonderful invention. She'd enjoyed watching her brother and friends play endless grudge matches, solve spooky interactive mysteries in the horror genre, and gleefully shoot one another over and over again... It was just that bad things tended to happen whenever she picked up one of those amusing little gray consoles. Already, her mind was backtracking to previous disasters. Electric failures, street-wide blackouts, the occasional unexplainable fire... After the last incident, she had been banned from the game system for the rest of eternity by unanimous vote. And they still hadn't gotten that scorch mark out of the ceiling. "Er," the teenager began, before nervously swallowing and trying again. "Look kid, I appreciate the invite, but really, I've got a ton of other things to do."

"There you go again," Sari interrupted, her voice becoming squeaky with annoyance. "You're a kid, not an adult! And kid's are supposed to have fun!" Hefting the giant sized controller, she shoved it into Cassidy's arms as if daring her to drop it. Adopting the no-nonsense expression her dad tended to use when she refused to eat her vegetables, the nine-year-old planted her hands on her hips. The older girl, she noticed, didn't look in any way happy. In fact, she was staring at the monstrously large video-game controller in her arms as if it might rear up and bite her.

Blinking large dark brown eyes, Sari tilted her head in an honest state of puzzlement. Cass didn't look excited, or amused, or anything. In fact, the brunet looked frightened, maybe even a little confused... Sari's features softened in abrupt understanding. The poor kid had probably never played with video-games in her entire life! She had heard about parents that were like that, always talking about how the electronic revolution was ruining everyone's childhood. They would occasionally stage protests on the news; she'd seen it. Sometimes, they would even march around in front of her father's corporate building holding picket signs. Well, she knew how to fix this!

"Come on," Sari wheedled, as if coaxing a wounded animal. "Just try it. Don't worry, because I'll show you everything about how it works!" With a skillful mixture of guilt trips and pleading, the red-head finally managed to get her to sit down with Bumblebee's giant sized controller within easy reach. Then the pig-tailed girl was all business. Racing back to the other end of the huge concrete couch, she pounced on the television remote. As large and heavy as a treadmill, the device was obviously geared for an audience of gigantic proportions. It still didn't stop Sari from using it! Pushing and prodding, the red-head finally got it aimed in the proper direction and slammed her fist down on the power button. Obediently, the screen flashed to life.

Wary brown eyes studied the giant video-game controller as if it was a ticking bomb. Shifting nervously, Cassidy was torn between the urge to run away and the heart pounding anticipation one generally tended to feel right before the Fourth of July fireworks went off. Meanwhile, Sari continued to push and prod (and in some cases, kick) the mega-sized television remote into doing her bidding. This was usually Bumblebee's domain. 'Of course,' the red-head mused. 'Bee can't hog the controller twenty-four seven, even though he might want to! Oof!' Grunting with the effort, the small red-head slammed one booted heal down on the channel-changing button as hard as she could. 'Stupid thing always gets stuck. Alright! There's the station I want!'

"Yes," she squealed, doing a clumsy victory dance around giant, mushroom shaped buttons. With sweaty triumph, the small girl hopped back down to the hard concrete below and snatched up her own normal sized controller. "Game on! Now, don't worry! I promise I'll go easy on you since it's your first time. Right now, we have Mutant Mall Zombies, and we're on the fifth... level...?" Sari trailed off with a frown. Instead of a creepily realistic looking hollow eyed corpse staggering across the screen, a different image appeared. It was a curvacious woman in a severe gray business dress with a too short skirt and high-heels. Striding her way past the screen, she abruptly turned and fired a gun point blank. The view-screen rocked as a fake hole appeared in the foreground along with digital blood spatters.

Flinching at the noise, Cassidy almost expected a real hole to appear in the view-screen. That's what happened to the television three years ago. Instead, the 'blood' dribbled down to form words. Sari was less than pleased. "Aargh! Spy Thriller," the nine-year-old read out loud. "Bumblebee, we beat this two months ago! Why'd you switch the games?"

"Sorry," the yellow scout shouted back from his drudgery of wet plaster. "It's just that Agent Simmons guy was so annoying, I decided I needed to blow off some steam..." He let out a wheezing snicker. "You should have seen the look on his face when he saw how high my score was! Five-hundred and eleven enemy agents killed! I told him I'd had lot's of practice... OW! Prowl, you slag-head!"

"Get back to work," the cyber-ninja intoned flatly. "Not only do you have the structural integrity of this wall to restore, you also must construct a new bedroom set for Sari and fill in thirty-six pot-holes in Cassidy's bedroom floor. Then you must..."

Alright, alright already," Bumblebee groused. Grumbling to himself in Cybertronian, he again set to work, all the while wishing he was doing anything else. Even a video-game he'd already beaten was better than finishing concrete and plaster!

_Meanwhile, back at Decepticon headquarters..._

"Look at that shoddy construction," Mixmaster sneered, derisively waving a servo at the spy monitor. Played out in all it's glory, was Bumblebee... morosely patching a wall. Prowl stood just barely within camera range with a frown of disapproving silence on his face-plates. "I could do better than that blindfolded and paralyzed! Shows what happens if you let a Compact car do the job, aye Blitzy?"

"Indeed," the tripple-changer intoned, his voice chillier than a winter frost. Icy was just barely keeping his more volatile brothers from joining the conversation. They wanted to, though. Home improvement shows had never held his interest. His metallic features contorted into a grimace as the others fought for control. Hothead ranted loudly over the insult of calling them 'Blitzy,' and demanded that they exact immediate retribution, preferably in the form of a swift beheading of the annoyingly talkative Constructicon. Random, however, was quite simply bored. He wanted to visit the enemy base and give that yellow Autobot a REAL mess to clean up, not that tiny little crater! With the aim of attempting to quiet both Mixmaster and his other personalities, he tapped the touch sensitive screen. The image of Bumblebee and Prowl automatically shrank down to a miniscule size. At the chorus of protests, only one of them audible, he explained, "Let us see what our other enemies are doing, yes?"

Considering the selection of miniature images, Icy considered his options. The medic appeared to be organizing his tools, Optimus had gone on patrol, Bulkhead was recharging, so that just left... Venting out a sigh, the triple-chager enlarged the picture of the two organics. When Mixmaster continued to complain, he silenced him with a chill look of deadly calm. "Megatron expressed an interest in the fleshling known as Cassidy," he explained after a long silence. "Ve can do nothing less than honor the vishes of our leader." Settling back, the Decepticon prepared himself for what was quite possibly going to be the longest duty shift of his existence. Anything was better than this pointless nature show.

_And back at the Autobot base..._

Menacingly sneaky music pounded out a staccato rhythm as the two girls stared at the giant Cybertronian television. The fact that they were fifteen feet away didn't matter. As big as a drive in movie screen, the device showcased the video-game 'Spy Thriller,' in three-dimensional, surround sound, pyrotechnic glory!

"You can't play Xenia, because she's the only girl, and is therefore mine," Sari declared, imperiously gesturing at the digitized image of the same leggy femme-fatale from the game's opening. Cassidy stared. Up close, the lady agent looked even more ridiculous. Thin enough to appear emaciated, the woman had an hourglass figure that was so exaggerated, it was a wonder she didn't break in half. Add in the barely legal short skirt and break-your-neck heals, and she was a complete joke! A small caption in the corner indicated the weapons she had (three rifles, two hand-guns, a bazooka, and a tank). 'Where does she keep all of that hidden,' the brunet snickered to herself, before shrugging. 'Maybe she stores it in her missile launching car? And, what the... Seventeen black-belts?!' Brown eyes incredulously read the score scrawled along the bottom of the screen which displayed that she had been on twelve missions and amassed a grand total of four-hundred and twenty-nine enemy agents killed in action. Her forehead wrinkled incredulously as she wondered, 'How does that compute?'

Mumbling to herself in Hindi about clunky alien technology, Sari shoved as hard as she could at a large button in the center of the controller, then reached to the left and slapped an arrow key. The picture of Xenia the super-spy shrank and fled to the side. Instantly, an ultra-handsome, tanned male with movie star good looks appeared to replace her. 'Agent Smith,' the caption proclaimed at the bottom of the screen. It looked like the most strenuous thing he'd ever done was pose for a photo shoot. Completely at odds with his appearance, his stats declared that he had a machine gun, twenty three grenades, a sniper rifle, and a machete. Then it went on to declare that he also had seventeen black-belts, had been on twelve missions, and had amassed six-hundred and thirteen kills. Apparently, the scout had been inspired to add to his kill ratio by his little visit with Agent Simmons. "That's Bumblebee's character," the nine-year-old declared. "So you can't use him, either."

"Whoever invented this game should be dragged out and shot," Cass mumbled as she gazed in mortified disgust at the computerized eye candy. When the pixilated heart-throb tensed his arms and flexed his muscular abs, the brunet put her face in her hands. Oh, brother!

"Huh," Sari wondered, while shoving her hands into the central button on the giant game controller. "Did you say something?" She slammed her fist down on the arrow key, moving on to the next one. It was a guy with greasy hair, a goatee, and pure white bell-bottomed pants reminiscent of the disco era. The name down below stated that his name was Agent Jones.

"Er," the brunet hesitated, before putting on a convincing cheery smile. "I said: Wow! I didn't know a spy could look so hot." On the inside, she was wishing that she was anyplace but here. Longingly, she cast her eyes back toward her nice, safe, tire bed. A far better alternative to an imminent electronic disaster in the making. Then she got a good look at the computerized character she'd inadvertently complimented and rolled her eyes. 'Oh, yeah, he's a spy,' she sarcastically reflected. 'That guy wouldn't get noticed in enemy territory at all...'

"Yeah, I know, right?" Sari grinned back, momentarily distracted from the agonizingly painful controller. "And they look way better than Agent Simmons! That guy reminds me of a weasel."

"Hey, some of my closest friends are weasels," the brunet quipped. An enigmatic grin quirked up at the red-head's confused expression. Speaking of which, she wondered what the cat-burglar was up to right now. Probably hanging out with the others... sigh.

"Nah," Bumblebee called out from the distant hallway. "Simmons looks more like a retro-rat! Especially around the eyes."

"What's a retro-rat," Sari yelled back at the top of her lungs, making Cassidy wince. She frowned in sympathy at the older girl. The first few days of living with these guys were pretty painful... Well, at least until the hearing damage set in. Then everything was perfect!

"Retro-rats are kind of...," he shouted, only to pause. "What I mean to say is it looks a little like... Oh, frag! You know, it's probably better if I show you a few vid-pictures I took back home. Don't worry, Prowl! This will only take a nano-click!" The stomping approach of heavy metal footprints began a steady approach only to abruptly be interrupted by a girlish alien screech.

"Nice try," the Cyber-Ninja, intoned, still grasping one of Bumblebee's audial horns with merciless pencil-thin fingers. "Now... back to work." He easily dragged the protesting scout back toward his, yet to be finished, construction job.

Both girls blinked in stunned silence as the two aliens disappeared back down the hallway. Then Sari shrugged and went back to the video-game. At last, Cassidy gave in and asked a question she'd been dying to know the answer to ever since she'd seen Agent Smith's pretty-boy good looks and manly six pack. "Where is this game supposed to be taking place?"

"I don't know," Sari replied, not really paying attention. "All over the place, I guess. Sometimes it's an enemy base in Russia, other times it's a South American Jungle, and once, it was in the middle of some kind of desert, or something." Tilting her head at the odd choking noise the other girl made, the red-head gave Cassidy a puzzled look. Then she shrugged and focused back on the game. Even though Bulkhead almost never played, that was his character, so therefore he was also off limits. This time, she kicked the large button in the center of the giant controller. It seemed to work better... and her palms hurt too much! She hated working with the Transformer's super-sized stuff! Hated it, hated it! Grumbling to herself again, she elbowed the arrow key and the next to last character flashed to the forefront of the screen. He was a handsome guy with a pony-tail and sunglasses. And he was wearing a scarlet kimono, which was ultra-cool!

Taking one look, Cassidy fell over laughing. He was so ridiculous looking! I mean, really! This guy was a spy?! Where did he work? She tried to picture him attempting to blend in and infiltrate a military base, or sneak his way across the Middle East. Yeah... not in that outfit! Didn't Sari mention something about Russia? Oh, no! Now she was imagining Agent Smith, the bare chested guy with the beach-side tan, shivering his way through frozen snow drifts. Snort. Her laughter choked off, however, when the screen abruptly flashed that 'Agent Warren' was her new character. "Whoa, wait a minute, kid," the brunet protested, abruptly sobering. "Wasn't there one more guy?"

"Yes, there was," Sari replied, rubbing her sore palms together. Stupid controller. Then she noticed the teenager's halfway incredulous expression, and quickly found an excuse, one designed to bestow the giant buttons of pain on someone else. "You can use Bee's controller because he's busy. It's fun! Really!" Tucking her rapidly bruising hands behind her back, she gave the older girl a wide, insincere smile. "And this character is perfect for you... I mean, you've both got the same hair style!"

Staring at the man wearing the goofy Kimono, sneakers, and sunglasses, Cassidy then focused on his greasy, rat's nest of a pony-tail. Whipping her own hair around, she compared the two. Okay, so after Swindle had ripped out a few locks and inadvertently dyed green streaks into her mane, it didn't look good... But it wasn't anywhere near as bad as that! She scowled at the insult. Her voice dripping with sarcasm, the brunet replied, "Thank. You." Pouting, she read her first mission which involved infiltrating a Ukrainian missile silo.

"Okay, now," Sari began, an expression of extreme concentration on her dusky features. "Since you're new to this, let's go with the easiest mode... and Start!" Shouting out the last word, she slammed both fists on the proper button on the giant controller. The screen turned black, except for a little loading symbol in the bottom. 'There,' the nine-year-old thought, nodding to herself. 'That's the last time I'm going to use Bumblebee's stupid controller. Now, it's Cassidy's problem!'

The image flashed, then the pixilated form of an old man with an eye-patch appeared. "Greetings, agents," he rumbled. "Your mission, should you take it, is a delicate one. You will be required to infiltrate a high level..." Before he could continue, a haze of static obscured the screen. Then another loading symbol appeared.

At the brunet's askance expression, Sari shrugged. "Oh, we never listen to that old windbag. It's a lot more fun to just kill everything that moves and blow the place to smithereens! Sometimes we loose points because we were supposed to rescue one of the guys we blew away, but whatever!" Two images appeared, one was a woman in high-heals and a mini-skirt standing knee deep in the icy tundra, the other one was a guy wearing a loud red kimono standing inside an innocuous looking hallway. People in soldiers uniforms holding high-powered rifles, walked past both of them as if they were invisible. "Now let's see," the nine-year-old mumbled as she pushed half a dozen buttons on the normal sized controller. Obediently, Xenia the super-spy began leaping over snow-drifts like a billy-goat.

"Um," Cassidy began, not sure if she wanted to know. The last time she'd used a video-game controller, they'd had to break out the fire-extinguishers. Hesitantly, she pushed one fist sized button down, using all of her strength to do it. Then she frowned in confusion. Agent Warren was standing there holding... something? It was small, lumpy, and flashing, whatever it was. At last deciding to voice her confusion, she pointed at the image and asked, "Sari, what's that thing?"

"Aaaagh," Sari screamed the instant her large brown eyes took in Cassidy's side of the television. "It's a bomb! Get rid of it!"

"How," Cass squawked, looking wildly around the giant controller. She didn't want the weird kimono guy to get killed, really she didn't. Just because someone was wearing the most noticeable outfit in history didn't mean she wanted them to die!

"Hit auxiliary 'G' and the arrow keys," the red-head exclaimed. She had her hands full dealing with two soldiers and a nun with a sniper rifle. Those nuns were always tricky. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched incredulously as the teenager frantically searched around all corners of the giant controller. "Why aren't you throwing it?!"

"Where's 'G," Cassidy exclaimed, just as frantic. All the buttons looked equally, massively, alike. Why couldn't video-games make sense? And who had the time to look for a stupid letter, anyway? On screen, the grenade was sparkling like a lit fire-cracker. Agent Warren was staring at it with child-like fascination in his eyes. A flare of wind rose up, causing his kimono sleeves to flap like they belonged to some kind of oversized bird.

"Throw it," Sari yelped. "You need to throw it now!" Dropping what she was doing, the pig-tailed girl leaped for the brunet's controller. The next events were as startling as they were real. A bright flash lit the view-screen, which was normal. This was followed by a loud boom from the video game console. Also normal. What wasn't, was the moment the console literally flew into the air as if it had been launched from a cannon. The controllers violently ripped out of their hands with the momentum. It soared end over end, barely missing the television screen, and slammed into the far wall with a resounding crash. Both girls screamed in alarm and ducked out of sight just in time to avoid the resulting shrapnel of melted plastic and metal. For a long moment, silence filled the room. Slowly, they peered over the edge of the concrete couch. Smoke poured out of the shattered toy, and a giant scorch mark on the wall showcased where it had initially landed. Slowly, a smile spread across the younger girl's dusky features. "Cool!"

"SARI," Bumblebee yelped from across the base. Pounding earthquakes announced the approach of a giant robotic alien in full panic mode. Instantly, their world consisted of huge glowing blue optics, shiny yellow armor, and big metal hands. "Are you okay? I heard an awful explosion, and... Oh, no!" Forgetting all about everything else, the scout dove over the top of the giant couch like a giant unwieldy panther. Heedless of the scratches he was developing, he skidded across the concrete floor on his knees until he arrived at the final resting place of a shattered video-game console. In silence, he took in a smoking mess of torn wires and melted plastic. His vocals a spark-broken whimper, he asked the red-head, his poor broken game console, and the world in general, "What the frag?"

"Well, that was fun," Cassidy nervously announced, backing away. "But I've got tons of stuff to do, like cook dinner, finish homework, take a shower..." And escape as fast as she could. Sooner or later, someone was going to figure out that explosions and fire tended to accompany her everywhere she went. She didn't know how it happened, it just did! Some people couldn't pick up a hammer without spectacularly damaging the world, other people were beyond clumsy on the dance floor. In her case, it was anything electronic or mechanical. Her mother was in denial, her father was resigned to the fact, her brother Kit thought she could overcome it if she was exposed to enough things of a mechanical nature, and her friends believed it to the point of blaming her for the least little malfunction. How the giant robots would react was another matter entirely, one she'd rather not witness. So... right... The first step in her grand escape plan was getting off the giant concrete couch. Warily peering over the edge at a two story drop off, she swallowed hard. It was even higher than she remembered.

"Cassidy," a cultured emotionless mechanical voice intoned from somewhere around her left shoulder-blade. Yelping in terror, the brunet jumped and spun around... only to encounter a face longer than she was tall hovering five inches away from her! Aside from a single raised brow-ridge, Prowl didn't comment. Instead, he calmly continued talking. It was as if he considered being close enough to bite someone a perfectly ordinary thing to do! "Ratchet has requested your presence. I would suggest you obey it."

Then, with otherworldly reflexes that were more than a little frightening, he silently disappeared. She could actually feel the rush of chill wind ruffle her hair as he moved out of range faster than she could blink. Fear stiffened features attempted to form a question and only partially succeeded with the word, "Wha...?" He ignored her, gliding across the room like a pencil thin shadow. 'And that's probably a good thing,' she reflected, attempting to snap herself out of her paralysis. For a brief moment, she wondered who 'Ratchet' was, before the memory of a giant robot with groaning parts popped into her brain. Oh, yeah... 'Considering how freaky that guy is, the less attention from him, the better. So he wants me to go see that rust colored robot? Fine! It still doesn't get me off the gigantic cave-man furniture!' Her foot slipped, and her eyes abruptly bugged out. 'Or... does it?'

Suddenly, she remembered what she'd been up to right before the visit with everyone's favorite neighborhood psycho... and how close she'd been standing to the edge. Her arms pinwheeling gracelessly, she let out an abrupt shriek of terror as gravity asserted it's dominance. Lights spiraled out of control, wind rushed into her ears, and the ground flew up to meet her like a long lost friend. Cringing, she waited for impact... and waited... and waited some more. Nervously peering between shaking fingers, it was to see the concrete floor a grand total of half a foot away from her face. She turned her head. Two needle thin, three foot long talons pinched her sneakers hard enough to leave holes. Next, her brown eyes traveled past that to spidery thin, bony robotic hands, then the equally thin arm, followed by a razor-like shoulder. Lastly, they finally focused on a face. It was robotic, narrow, and so coldly unemotional it could easily belong to a serial-killer. In other words: it was Prowl. "If you are through making a spectacle of yourself," he intoned dryly. "I would suggest you go see Ratchet, now." Dropping her with bruising force to the ground, he sheathed his claws, turned, and glided away like a piece of living shadow.

"Alright, Prowl," Bumblebee cheered, momentarily sidetracked from the disaster to end all disasters in the gaming world. At the sound of Cassidy's alarmed organic shriek, he had jumped into action, not that it was necessary. The sunshine yellow Autobot beamed proudly after the vanished ninja. "I told you the protective programming would assert itself if you gave it a chance! That was terrific guardian work!" As an aside to Sari, he muttered, "Of course, it's no where near as good as I am..." She stifled a giggle at his words.

"Ungh," Cassidy groaned, slowly rolling out of her impromptu face-plant into the concrete. Her skull pounded in time with the giant yellow robot's words like a bass-drum. Getting dropped on her head probably had something to do with that. It was while she was cradling her aching forehead that she noticed the interesting new holes in her sneakers. Taking off her left shoe, she eyed it in morbid fascination. The claw hole went all the way through to the other side! Experimentally pressing down on her other shoe, her eyebrows rose in disbelief. Those claws had missed her toes by less than a centimeter! Most people would be shocked at this realization. Some might even think this was cool or even a little alarming. For the brunet, it simply reaffirmed what she already knew from previous 'rescues' from the psychotic robot. She knew it was always detrimental to one's health to be around Prowl, particularly when you needed help. Chances were good that you wouldn't live to thank him for it after-wards. Shoving her sneaker back on, the teenager climbed shakily to her feet and began making her unsteady way toward the exit. Even a cardboard box under a freeway bridge was safer than this place!

"Hey, Cass," Sari began, tugging on the back of the teenager's shirt. The red-head raised one eyebrow when Cassidy jumped and twisted around in alarm. 'Huh,' the nine-year-old wondered absently. 'Why is she always doing that?' Mentally shrugging, she jerked her thumb toward the opposite side of the rec-room as she explained, "That's not the right hallway for Ratchet's place, it's that way."

"Really," Cassidy asked with a nervous smile. "Imagine that... I was just going to go out for..." She trailed off, noticing Bumblebee's electric blue optics shining hopefully in her direction. And was it her imagination or was that Prowl's icy pale visor shining at her from the darkness? Shudder. Hurriedly, she tried to come up with a plausible lie. "What I really mean is..." Again, a big pair of adorable brown eyes shone up at her in innocent curiosity. Her shoulders sagged as she gave up on excuses. "Where did yah say Ratchet is, again?"

"Oh, is that all?" Sari beamed up at the teenager in happy realization. "I get lost in here all the time! It's nothing to be ashamed of. You just go down that other hallway and turn left at the second doorway. Okay?" Instead of being happy, the older girl sighed in resignation and began a slow trudge toward the indicated direction. Her nose wrinkling in confusion, the pig-tailed girl turned her head and looked around. Nothing but machine parts were on that side of the room. Not realizing that Prowl had been standing there ten seconds ago, she scratched her head. "Huh... What's her problem?"

"Yeah, that was weird," Bumblebee agreed, clanking up next to her with long heavy stomps. Carefully cradled within his massive black painted servos as if he was holding an infant, was the mangled and scorched remains of one dearly departed video-game console. The scout was already making plans on how to skip out of the wall-patching job so he could go out and buy a replacement. In silence, they watched the brunet drag her feet to the medical wing as if approaching an execution. He shrugged and offered his charge a carefree grin. "Maybe she knows what Ratchet's physical exams are like?"

_Simultaneously, in the 'Con's monitor room..._

"Vhat ze frag?" Blue lights played over the reflective metallic features of Blitzwing's face-plates as he stared in honest disbelief at the video-feed to the spy cameras in the Autobot base. For once, his other two personalities were equally as focused. Reaching forward, he rewound the tape and played it again, this time in slow-motion. Again, the two squishies panicked and danced frantically over the Cybertronian sized video-game controller. His monocle extended into a telescopic view as he focused on the soon to be doomed organic toy resting in the background. Just as before, the pixilated image flashed in a poor imitation of an explosion. Then a barely perceived rumble shook the video-game monitor violently, as if in the throws of a real display of pyrotechnic power. Together, the Decepticons stared at the final results: a hopelessly smashed sparkling's toy. _Unlike Sari_, he noted dispassionately, _Cassidy does not look surprised at this outcome in ze least._ A long, drawn out silence descended over the small monitor room.

"Woah," Mixmaster grunted, rubbing the back of his helm. "Hey, I ain't no expert on the local species, but that didn't look right..."

"Agreed," the triple-chager replied. Deft servos stopped the recording and switched it back to a live video-feed in time to watch the small fleshling trudge out of the room in a state of melancholy. Tilting his head, he realized she was heading into another room, but which one? Sharp red optics scanned the various view-screens until he located where she'd gone. The medic's domain? Quickly enlarging the necessary image, he settled back to watch. Perhaps this duty shift would prove to be more interesting than he had at first believed.

_Back at the Autobot headquarters..._

The med-bay was immaculate. Nestled in the nether region of the base, it was a cobbled together affair of semi-new equipment (salvaged together from their crashed ship) to positively ancient tools that had been lovingly maintained over the eons (Ratchet's personal supplies). Still more had been gradually added from the local organic population. In one corner was an old copy machine, now converted into a cellular analyzer. Over on the nearby two story tall counter-top were car parts that had been salvaged from the local dump... a good source for temporary replacement parts until he could weld together armor that was a bit more solid.

Ratchet finished polishing the last wrench in his toolkit and vented out a despondent sigh. This had been the sixth time he had cleaned them in the past orn. Normally, he'd be recharging under Detroit's meager afternoon sunlight, or reading a medical journal, or refueling, or any other fool thing! Of course, under normal circumstances, he wasn't awaiting his first non-Cybertronian patient. Grumbling curses under his intakes, he snatched up the pad that contained the basics on Human anatomy. The images and text that sprang to life on the screen were disgusting enough to make him want to rip out his own optics. _I'm a medic, not a veterinarian_, he groused to himself, his servos clenching into fists. _What is Optimus thinking?!_ Dropping the nearly incomprehensible text back to the counter, the old medi-bot seriously considered indulging in his private supply of high-grade. Blue optics considered that storage cabinet longingly. Oh, so tempting... At the sudden ping on his sensory net, however, he dropped all other activities to consider his latest visitor.

It was that new organic... Scanning her from head to toed just to make sure, he noted DNA sequencing, chemical makeup, and general biological standards. Next, he scanned the data banks for her designation. 'Cassidy Jane Nulte,' was her name. Navy blue optics rolled ceiling-ward as he silently wondered, _Why do the smallest species always tend to adopt the longest names?_ Unimpressed, he considered the femme on a purely visual basis now. Her Earth medical files were severely limited. _What the frag is the color 'Brown,' anyway?_ A quick internet search for the definition left him in a state of puzzlement. _The combination of red, yellow, and blue? That doesn't make sense! _ A few more minutes research and he logged out with a derisive snort. Apparently, Humans had an even more limited visual acuity than he'd realized. Any color that became the least bit murky was automatically given that label. According to the girl's file, she had brown hair and brown eyes. To a Cybertronian, she had dark yellow hair that resembled the color of tarnished copper, and eyes that were a shade very close to iron pyrite. Both were far more accurate descriptions which he automatically added to his own files. Beyond that, she was fairly ordinary looking. Two arms, two legs, a rudimentary reproductive system, and a general coloration to her skin that went along with the over all 'gold' theme. He grumbled under his intakes before at least attempting to reign in his temper. After all, it wasn't her fault she was Human. "Ah, just the organic I was looking for," he declared, forcing a smile. "Step into my med-bay and we'll get started."

Rubbing away the harsh electric zap that had just ricocheted up and down her spine, frizzed out her hair, and set every metal filling in her teeth to aching, Cass was less than pleased. 'Why do they keep doing that,' she wondered as she adjusted her sunglasses. 'First Swindle, now all the rest of them! How would they like it if I did that to them?' Then the rust colored robot's words registered and she stared up at him in surprise. "Med-bay," she echoed in consternation, blinking at the odd sounding word. That first trickle of unease was gradually shivering it's way down her spine. Wide eyed, she looked around the large, cavernous room, noting futuristic looking chainsaws, belt-sanders, and drills. A movement from the robot snapped her gaze back in his direction. Ooh, he didn't look very happy.

"Yes, the med-bay," Ratchet sneered back, his servos on his hips. "That place where doctors dwell! Specifically: this doctor! Now be a good little Human and get in here!" Instead of following orders, however, the organic continued to hover around the doorway. Blue optics began to narrow in annoyance.

"When you say 'Doctor," she warily began. "Are you the type that says, "Tell me about your childhood.' or are you the type that says..." Here, her words became harshly sarcastic as she finished, "This won't hurt a bit!"

"I mean," Ratchet growled, "Doctor, as in: Get your scrawny aft on that med-table before I strap it there myself!" Vents huffed a gout of steam in an effort to relieve superheated systems. At this point, he was very close to loosing what little patience Primus had blessed him with. Bright blue optics narrowed as the fleshling continued to stay exactly where she'd started. Gold flecked organic eyes stared back at him in a mixture of fear and disbelief. For a long click, nothing moved. Just the steady, thrumming engine growl of an angry Medi-bot filled the air.

Letting out a sudden, carefree laugh, Cassidy smiled up at the threatening looking alien. "Oh, no worries there, Hon," she reassured him, all the while praying he wouldn't be able to tell she was quaking in terror. "I'm not that crazy." Wary brown eyes considered the giant killer robot behind the cover of opaque dark glasses. Calling on every ounce of her actor's training, she favored him with a sweet smile. Forcing herself to relax, she casually began strolling his way while waiting for the right moment to escape what just might turn into one of those cliche alien abduction experimentation sessions. Even if it wasn't, did she really want to take the chance? No way! Muscles tensed while she watched for that one key moment of distraction.

"That's good to know," Ratchet intoned as he relaxed. His force-field generator, which had begun to power up, obediently went back to standby mode as his guard relaxed. Initial scans of the organic indicated that she had several defunct microchips imbedded inside her. And for some reason, metal was fused into her teeth. Filing the information away for future analysis, he waited for the organic to make her own way to him. Now that she was being cooperative, he could focus on more important matters. Selecting a cleaning cloth from his supplies, he folded it into a rough organic bed sized shape and laid it down on the medi-berth.

"Therefore, you must be looking for someone else," the brunet agreed just as cheerfully. Then she was moving! Abruptly spinning on her heal, she broke all land speed records in her efforts to get away. Doctor's visits weren't her favorite activity under the best circumstances. And an alien medical exam? One that was complete with every kind of painful power tool she could name? Forget it! Reaching the hallway, she picked a random direction and booked it for the nearest exit!

"Youngling, get the frag back here," Ratchet roared, his force-field generator coming back on line with a vengeance. A snarled curse escaped his vocalizer as she just barely managed to slip around the metal doorway and out of his reach! Snatching up his tools, he followed her infra-red trail out into the hallway. Small faded red sneaker-prints furtively wandered along the wall until they arrived in the rec-room. Sari and Bumblebee, by this point, had vacated for some other location in the base. _And yet, they've left the vid-screen on_, he realized with a growl. He vented a sigh as he switched it off. _Don't they realize how expensive it is to keep equipment running like this? Fragging inconsiderate..._ Movement off to the left caught his attention and he stilled. His navy blue optics gleamed with a new predatory light and a slight smile quirked up on his grizzled metallic features.

Crouched behind a pile of miscellaneous machine parts, Cassidy waited impatiently for Ratchet to leave. And she waited, and waited, and waited still longer. He wasn't moving! Like a monolithic tribute to the medical profession, the rust colored robot stood there. Maybe he was in standby mode? That was when a zap of energy skittered up her spinal column, and electrified every tooth in her head! "YOUCH," she yelped out loud, clapping a hand over her aching mouth. A shadow fell over her, blocking her from the blinding overhead florescent lights. The brunet scowled and crossed her arms as she glared up into a weathered alien face.

"Cassidy," Ratchet intoned, a grisly smile on his aged face-plates. "You have a medical appointment whether you like it or not! Now, get the frag back in my office!"

"Maybe if you'd quit zapping me, I would," the brunet declared, trying to brush away the static electricity that was wrinkling up her tee-shirt. That was when another energy scan hit her dead on. The fillings in her mouth let out a sharp snap of electricity and she yelped in agony, frantically rubbing a finger over her molars in an effort to remove the burn. Raw energy skittering and crackling under her sneakers was the final straw. "Quit doing that," Cassidy yelled. "First Swindle, then Prowl, and now you! What? Are all you guys secretly sadists?"

"No, only those in the medical profession," Ratchet drawled, his expression stating that he quite clearly wasn't impressed. "For your information, it's called 'scanning.' And we have to keep doing it so we don't accidentally step on one of you little fraggers. Now, move!"

"Yeah, yeah," Cass grumbled, slowly walking back toward the med-bay. "The smears all over your big robotic feet would be horrendous, yadda, yadda. Ruin your whole day..." She yelped as another bombardment of energy skittered from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes. Now her curly hair was electrified to clown wig proportions, and her teeth were sending off more sparks than an electric chair! Spinning around, she glowered wordlessly at her tormentor.

"You getting squished would ruin your day more than mine, youngling," Ratchet smugly intoned. Matching glower for glower, his smile was nothing short of malicious. The giant automatic doors slid open with a whoosh and he gestured with gracious sarcasm toward the room beyond. "Femmes first." Rolling her eyes at his 'polite' invitation, Cassidy followed orders... for about fifteen minutes.

One moment of distraction when one of his diagnostic tools went on the fritz, and she was gone again! Snarling profanities, he barreled out after her! Escape attempt number two was thwarted when he found Cassidy in the rec-room... thirty feet up the south wall, free-climbing! It was true. There she was, clinging to the concrete wall like a fragging Insecticon. He'd had no idea Human's were capable of that, and he'd be slagged a thousand times over if he didn't put a stop to it right now! That was what brought him to his current position: up against that same wall, one servo stretched high above his helm, desperately trying to reach the idiot youngling before she broke her silly neck!

"Of all the slagging," Ratchet growled, stretching for all he was worth. "Unicron spawned... Primus forsaken locations!" He strained harder, his claws scrabbling with the effort, and snarled painfully when he felt an internal strut give out. Five new claw marks now adorned the wall above his helm where his servo had been. The structural integrity of the man-made rock wasn't strong enough to hold his weight. Unfortunately, it could support a Human just fine. Aiming a glower that was half worry and half irritation, he considered the femme who was currently just beyond the reach of his talons. It would be easier to get her if he had something to stand on, but what if she fell while he was gone? No, it was best to use this method. Huffing out an exasperated gust of air, he estimated the distance and jumped like a professional basketball star, his raised servo missing her by a wire's breadth. The medic swore as his front scraped his chassis down the wall. Great! Now his paint-job was ruined. Focusing on the organic up above, he snarled, "Youngling, if you don't come down here right now..."

"Get bent," the brunet defiantly interrupted. Cass flinched when Ratchet snarled something in an alien language and jumped for her again. Air whistled past his claws and slammed into the wall scant inches from her right foot before slowly skidding back down. She cringed. The sound of a full grown Cybertronian body-surfing along the concrete to the ground below was agonizing, like nails on a chalkboard. 'Note to self,' the brunet reflected as she chose another precarious handhold and hoisted herself up just a little more. 'Don't insult the giant alien.' It was much better to focus on something else, like those painful electrical sweeps he kept doing! 'Did he ask for my permission? No,' she internally ranted, wincing at the rough feel of scratchy concrete under her palms. 'He just keeps doing it!'

Underlying the rage, was an ever present, spark-felt fear that Ratchet was going to do something else.. something permanently disfiguring. In her mind's eye was every alien horror movie she'd ever seen, combined with memories of her enforced stay in Swindle's charming company. Things like claws, writhing seat-belts that turned into tentacles, and the ever present threat of impending death. Cassidy shuddered. Angrily, she shoved the images out of her head. 'Bastard! There's no way I'm even giving this guy the chance to try!' Still grousing to herself, she clung to the rough concrete wall for all she was worth. So the main door to the base wouldn't open for a human? No problem! There was more than one way to escape a mad-house, and the brunet was an expert at thinking outside of the box. Craning her neck, she squinted up at the only natural light she'd seen anywhere in this entire building. It was a sky-light, one that was waaaay up there! She hadn't known about it at first thanks to the blinding florescent lights that were on all the time... until now. Thank God for that blackout! Normally, she wouldn't consider this route a decent option. Of course, under normal circumstances, she wasn't running for her life from a giant, growling, cursing killer-robot! A clawed hand slamming into the wall, too close to be accidental, was a decent reminder that the robot was still entirely too close for comfort. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up to the next toe-hold.

"Oh no you don't," Ratchet exclaimed, abruptly switching back to English. "Don't you dare go any higher, you little..." The possibility of the femme slipping beyond his reach was what finally galvanized him into action. Activating his force-field generator, he focused it into a concentrated beam and aimed it at one key target... Cassidy Jane Nulte.

Cass didn't know what hit her. One minute, she was three stories up and climbing, the next she was in agony! Fire erupted across her teeth as every filling burned with electricity. Pinpoints of molten lava abruptly ignited in her butt, her thigh, and both arms, and where was that high pitched shriek coming from? Oh... it was her. A tug, and the brunet lost her grip. Was she flying?! The next instant, she dropped like a stone. She didn't even have the luxury of a good scream before she landed, face first, into a metal coated palm. Silence descended over her world. The brunet moaned, the first sign that she wasn't dead.

At the femme's initial screech of agony, Ratchet was so startled, he dropped her. Only years of experience gave him the temerity to catch her as she fell. Then it was force-fields off and every medical scan he had bombarding the femme. She took it with a nearly silent groan of pain, curling into herself in agony. Venting out a sigh, the Autobot shook his head. Multiple low level burns surrounded each and every tracking device imbedded in her fleshling frame and her organic dentas needed to have three metal fillings replaced. It looked like he had tissue regeneration, minor surgery, and dental work added to his 'to do' list on top of the standard physical. He'd have to work on recalibrating his force-fields or even doing away with their use when it came to this femme. Slagging organic. Her soft whimper, though, caused a rare expression of empathy to flit across his craggy features.

"Honestly youngling," the medic admonished, lifting the organic up until they were eye to eye. "If you'd quit behaving like such a sparkling, this examination would have been done cycles ago!" All the femme did was wordlessly glare back at him. Turning, he began trudging back to the med-bay, only pausing once he had just crossed the threshold to send out a brief command. Doors slid shut with a definitive snap and a small orange warning light switched on. The medic nodded in grim approval. Now, the doors wouldn't open for anything short of an emergency. There was no way he was taking chances this time.

"Doc, wait a minute," Cassidy rasped, at last regaining her breath. She dragged herself into a sitting position and tried to ignore the creepy feeling of living metal thrumming beneath her. Thinking fast, she swallowed hard in an effort to recover her voice and spoke louder. "I'm just upset because you're doing it all wrong. That's all!" Held captive in a metal hand larger than she was tall, she did her level best to look authoritative. Squaring her shoulders, jutting out her chin, and straightening her arms, she forced herself to maintain eye contact with a highly incensed robot. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice her chattering teeth. 'Ow! What the...' Carefully feeling around in her mouth, she discovered more than one raw edge! Looked like she needed to add a visit to the dentist, as well.

"Really?" Narrowed blue optics darkened in growing anger as he plonked her down on the medi-berth. His hopes of this being a swift medical check-up had been blown to the Pit, and he was not in the mood to play games. In fact, he just might be inclined to make this the worst physical exam the little glitch had ever experienced. Her implied doubt about his professionalism had now guaranteed it. Sarcasm flavoring his words, he wondered, "And how, pray tell, would you suggest that I do things differently?"

"Well," Cassidy paused, honestly stunned he was willing to listen. Thinking fast, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "You should be making a crop-circle!"

"Crop-circle," Ratchet repeated, momentarily taken aback. He had assumed she would have had the gall to criticize his medical expertise...not that! And what the frag were 'crop-circles?' A fast Internet search yielded an equally glitched up definition, along with advertisements for vacations to see 'Authentic evidence of otherworldly intelligence!' Further pictures revealed imagery of the 'Mysterious Phenomenon,' which mostly looked like complete slag. Now, more that a little skeptical, he replied, "Do tell..."

"Exactly," she agreed, nodding vigorously. "And then, after you've made a few of those, you have to either vaporize a cow or slaughter a few chickens. After that, yah need to freak out a drunken fisherman using a mock-up of a miniature flying saucer on a wire! The final thing to do is the inhuman experimentation! You see? You've just got the order all wrong! But don't worry, I'll be happy to walk yah through it..." Politely, she took two subtle steps back, then two more. She had noticed that the table was being held up by crisscrossed I-beams, perfect for climbing down. All she needed was a suitable distraction. Carefully calculating the distance to the door, she then tried to estimate exactly how preoccupied Ratchet was. "In fact," she quickly continued, noticing the unfriendly look he was giving her. "I've already got a few designs in mind for the crop-circles!" He turned away, and muttering something under his vocals, went back to his collection of torture devices. A sigh of relief slowly breathed out as she muttered under her breath, "I think I'll just go write them down..."

Carefully considering the endless cliff edge of the truly humongous metal surface she was on, the brunet debated over her options. There were no delusions in her mind of the disaster that would occur if she lost her grip. It was a good two stories down, at least, with no safety-net at the bottom... just concrete. She could stay up here... Glancing over her shoulder, it was to see the giant robot holding something long, sharp, and metallic up to the light. Cass swallowed convulsively. Right! So, climbing down scaffolding, it was! Crouching down, feeling the raw edges of still torn skin over her injured palms, the teenager took a deep breath, grabbed the sheer edge of the giant metal berth, and swung over the side. Gravity asserted itself with painful force on her already aching shoulders, and she cursed profusely.

"Complain all you want, youngling," Ratchet called over his shoulder. "It doesn't change the fact that you are getting a physical!"

Freezing, Cass waited for the inevitable moment that the medic would turn around, figure out what was going on, and rush to stop her. Nothing happened. Opening squeezed shut eyes, she stared at the solid reflective steel slab that made up the side of the alien examination bed in tense alarm. Still, nothing continued to happen. There were no pounding footsteps, snarled alien curses, or razor sharp glossy black claws. Instead, there was the peaceful metallic clink of medical instruments and the dull hum of Ratchet's engine as he peacefully prepared his tools. She let the breath slowly out of her lungs. Overstressed muscles in her arms were now protesting with a vengeance. Maybe she'd ripped something? It was doubtful that she would be able to lift herself up right now. Swallowing the pain, she blindly reached out with the toe of one shoe. The support strut was missing!

Beginning to panic, she again kicked out with her foot, this time, almost loosing her grip on the edge of the table! She scrabbled to hold on. Where was the girder?! It was while she was hanging there, almost crying, her heart hammering triple time, and kicking her legs for all she was worth, that her left foot hit something solid! Cassidy froze, at first feeling thankful that it had magically appeared. Then reality set in. Suddenly, she was berating herself over her own stupidity! Why hadn't she realized that she was just a little too far to the side? Gritting her teeth and wincing at the twinge of metal fillings, the brunet carefully shuffled, had over hand, until her foot easily reached a solid platform. So far, so good! Now came the tricky part.

Working her right leg into that narrow metal gap, she then shuffled her other leg in after it and locked her knees in a bend position. Cassidy closed her eyes. Her spine tensed and her heart continued to hammer wildly in her chest. Telling herself the little white lie that she was only five feet off the ground instead of a whopping fifteen, her fingers slowly let go of the edge of the table up above. Gravity tried to drag her down again and she cursed, resisting the urge to compulsively grasp the metal edge up above. She'd always hated this exercise! Hated it, hated it, hated it! This was Weasel's idea of fun, not hers! With aching slowness, feeling her spine crackle with the effort, she gradually curled her body down until her hands grasped the support gap in the next rung up. Then the air gradually seeped out of her lungs. Opening her eyes, she bit her lip nervously, before working on the other hard part of this little escape plan: Climbing down. Hands shakily clung to the top gap in the metal girder as she shimmied her legs free. It was slow going. Weakened muscles threatened to give out more than once and she acquired quite an array of interesting bruises in her efforts to find a better position. Dimly, it occurred to her that Ratchet seemed to be taking an awfully long time to notice her absence and she wondered at this. Maybe he already knew what she was up to? Could he secretly be lying in wait for her, just hoping she'd wear herself out? It's what she would do, after all! Well, if she was an evil alien doctor plotting all kinds of torturous experiments, she would. Thus, paranoia sustained her surface thoughts and distracted her mind from the ever present threat of death. Did she mention that she hated second story work?

At last, she stood proudly upon the metal girder, grasping it like a misshapen ladder. It was easy! She'd climbed these all the time back when she was a kid! The brunet might have disliked the terror of the first downward swing with a purple passion, but the second part was as easy as the monkey-bars in elementary school. Within minutes, she'd arrived, panting upon the distant concrete ground down below. Cassidy glanced over her shoulder. There he stood, still facing away from her, playing with his gigantic tools. He'd even begun whistling to himself! Shaking her head in disbelief, the brunet took a hesitant step toward the distant door. Ratchet still didn't do anything. She took another step and winced in anticipation. No crashing footsteps came her way, nor did a single electron skitter painfully across her skin. Another step... then another. Nothing. Growing more confident, the brunet moved faster, always wary of making the slightest noise. Of course, she still cast a paranoid glance back at the distracted giant, but that lure of freedom was slowly drawing her closer.

Bellows rose up that resembled the noises emitted from a partially crushed saxophone, a sure sign that Ratchet had just discovered her absence. Well, good for him! She dropped the silent act and booked it across the warehouse sized office. Pounding footsteps like earthquakes and screeching electric guitars heralded the advance of one severely pissed off giant killer robot. Cassidy ran faster! 'Yes! There's the door,' the brunet mentally exclaimed, increasing her speed, only to slam into a set of giant automatic doors that flatly refused to open. She'd realized it a second too late to stop herself. All she could do was throw her arms up in a vain attempt to protect herself as she slammed headlong into the unforgiving surface. What she got for her trouble was a bruised elbow, no air in her lungs, and a gallon of sweat from her last end-run! Her knees feeling wobbly with exhaustion, the teenager turned to face her opponent.

"Thank you for that little demonstration," Ratchet dryly stated, observing her with an air of long-suffering triumph. "At least I know that your cardiovascular system is in top condition." Servos abruptly snatched her off the ground fast enough to bestow nosebleeds. While she was still reeling from the abrupt change in altitude, he growled, "And don't you ever do a fragging crazy stunt like that again! Thought I was going to have a spark-attack when I saw you slide off the edge." Mumbling some choice insults about younglings and mental glitches, he carried her back to the berth. Then he stopped and growled at the intrusion of a new sensation. If he'd been any other kind of build he wouldn't have noticed it. A Construction or Warrior class model, one who's armor and sensory systems were designed to withstand a lot of punishment, wouldn't have noticed anything. Neither would an archivist or courier build, who's armor and sensors were made only for the most rudimentary of information gathering. Medics and scientists were an entirely different story. There sensors were fine tuned, designed to pick up the faintest of signals for the sake of information gathering or handling delicate objects. Objects such as a certain Human femme, who was currently attempting to squirm out of his deliberately gentle grip. She'd already managed to work one leg free! Now, thoroughly incensed, he lifted the organic back to optic level. The brunet froze in the weight of his glare and tried to look innocent. This was somewhat hampered by the fact that she was half sitting on top of his fist, one leg was dangling over space, and the other was still hopelessly trapped between giant metal fingers.

"Listen up, you little slagger," he growled, his words starting out soft and growing steadily louder the longer he talked. "You are here due to Prime's orders. I may not like it, but frag it all, I will not be toyed with! The instant you march through that door, you are MINE! GOT IT!" Plonking the organic back on the steel surface hard enough to bruise her aft, he glowered and waved one metal finger warningly. "Now, don't fragging move from that spot!"

Staring at that hovering giant index finger, the one that was mere inches away from her nose, Cassidy was petrified. A slight indent was on the tip in the shape of a long triangular hatch. That almost invisible little opening, the brunet knew, housed a razor sharp metal claw... and it was aimed at her face! Only when Ratchet finally drew his servo away, did the teenager remembered she had to breath. Dragging in lungful after painful lungful, paranoid beyond belief, the brunet eyed the alien in half panicked alarm to see that he was holding something! It was long... metallic... Squinting, she pulled off her sunglasses to try to get a better look. Well, it was definitely alien looking and lethal, whatever it was. She was almost afraid to look closer, yet, look she did! Immediately, she regretted it. It was a hypodermic syringe. Ashen faced, the brunet eyed this eighth wonder of the world with a sense of horrified awe. The thing had to be big enough to spear an elephant!

Large brown eyes considered this new weapon, from it's shiny metal handle, down the clear tube it was attached to, all the way to the razor sharp glittering point at the end. By this point she was crab walking backwards away from this new terror. In her mind was an announcer's voice declaring, "Can a human endure having all her insides sucked out through one single hollow point? Now showing, live, at the alien base in Detroit, Michigan!'

A warning signal popped up on one end of the medi-berth and Ratchet turned his helm. As machines went, the monitor system was truly Primus sent! Every personal scan he made took up valuable processor space that could be used for far more useful purposes. That was the beauty of the medi-berth. Designed with the specific function of monitoring a being's insides, he could switch it on, lay the patient down on it's surface, and get to work on curing a mech's ailments. On the battlefield, it was a different story. Scans had to be performed right then and there with surgery soon after. For trauma patients, it was even worse. Ratchet couldn't spend every waking second running scan after scan, not when a mech's function hung in the balance and laser fire was lighting up the sky! In those instances, there was another, far more invasive procedure: jacking in. Instantly, the patient's pain became the medic's pain, their maladies became his, and their chances of continuing to function relied entirely on his. Unfortunately, every thought also became well known to him. Many mechs and femmes had passed on while he struggled to keep them functional... He shuddered.

Humans didn't have ports, thank Primus. Yet, Ratchet couldn't spend every waking minute running scans on Cassidy's scrawny organic frame. That made the bio-bed the best solution. The information it displayed, however, wasn't good. An accelerated heart rate, massive amounts of adrenaline, and the key pheromones which indicated primal fear flashed across the monitor, just to name a few. Suspicious blue optics flicked her direction even as a small shred of pity began to shine though. "Youngling," the medi-bot began, only to growl in renewed irritation as she didn't react. Instead, her eyes was locked in a specific direction. Tracking that line of vision, he dutifully followed it... until his optics also locked on what she was staring at: his syringe. "Cassidy," he growled, his optics darkening in annoyance to a deep shade of twilight shadows. "You had better not be..." A small red light on the medi-berth began flashing, the last remaining warning he was going to receive, and she abruptly screamed at the top of her lungs. Wincing, he finished the sentence with depressed annoyance, "...about to panic."

Leaping to her feet and letting out screams that were nine-tenths fear induced, the teenager scrambled wildly for a safe way down and found none. She searched for a direction, any direction at all! Some children tended to cry a little when they were confronted with a needle. Others took the slightest pinprick with quiet, unafraid dignity. Not Cassidy, the girl who considered martial arts an entertaining hobby. There was a reason why her practicing care physician required her to be sedated whenever he had an appointment with her. If the kick to the stomach she'd given him when she was six wasn't convincing enough, then the broken jaw she'd bestowed when she was ten years old, was! He'd suggested therapy and was promptly ignored by Toby and Gina Nulte. Her parents felt that any problems Cass had would be worked out in time without getting some shrink involved. At that moment, watching the actions of a full blown survival oriented Human, Ratchet might have been inclined to disagree. Screeching a terrified babble of words, she rushed around the giant metal berth, scared out of her mind. Giant armor plated hands landed on the table in front of her and she reversed course with a shout of alarm only to encounter another rust colored palm landing that direction as well!

"Would you just," Ratchet began, only to curse loudly as the femme actually somersaulted over one of his servos. Blue optics flickered around the medi-berth, attempting to calculate where the little glitch would head next. He pounced, only to miss by several feet when she veered off course by five degrees! Un-fragging-believable! He'd hit her with a dose of electricity if he wasn't certain it would fry her fleshy body to a crisp. Calculating, he pounced, only to be thwarted yet again. His right servo reached out! Taking a flying leap, she just barely evaded outstretched claws. Left servo! Reversing course like a retro-rat, she skidded off in the opposite direction. Wildly looking around the table, he studied the organic that had apparently lost her mind, and vented an exasperated sigh. That cube of high-grade had never looked so tempting. At last, hoping to break through her hysteria, he bellowed at the top of his vocalizer, "CASSIDY!"

Yelping in agony, the brunet toppled off the edge of the berth in the wake of the abrupt sonic blast of an outraged Cybertronian. She didn't even noticed the servo that caught fast to the back of her horribly mangled shirt before she could fall to her death on the distant concrete floor. Instead, instinctively curling like an infant, she held her poor abused ears in a state of paralyzed agony. Not even the skittering bombardment of multiple scans could penetrate the constant clamor of a thousand shrill bells ringing in her ears. A chill metal table seeped through her clothes, and a voice spoke gentle alien words that she couldn't possibly hear. Nor could she see the gigantic grizzled old face that peered at her closely, creased with the worry that he'd damaged her beyond repair. In a state of terrified alarm, the medic swiftly programmed a dose of his own nanites and injected it into her in the hopes of repairing what was lost. His alarm only increased when the microscopic robotic cells were slow to respond and barely did anything he'd instructed them to do! It was only when oversized robotic fingers began subtly trying to convince her body to lie flat that she came to her senses.

Tear stained features froze in terror at the sight of a face larger than she was tall, of pure white metal teeth the size of tombstones, and the cavernous throat beyond them. Glowing predatory optics peered down at her in worry, then relief, as he saw that her eyes had opened. The oversized mouth opened again, this time to ask if she could hear him yet. To the brunet's addled brain, it looked a lot different. Ratchet wasn't recognizable. This was a nightmare of epic proportions brought on by an overactive imagination and too many scary stories from her childhood. Visions of Jack and the Beanstalk, the Iliad, and gigantic dragons assailed her mind. Was it any surprise that she freaked out? A scream, one that was high and loud, erupted from her mouth... exactly the kind of frequency that had the potential to break a mech's audio receptors.

With his sensors tuned to their highest frequency, searching for the faintest impulse from the injured alien, Ratchet didn't stand a chance. Cassidy's scream hit his audio system with all the damage of a jet turbine firing up. Rearing back, he cursed the organic to the Pit and back! Only the vaguest of impulses kept his servo from crushing her like an overfilled water-balloon. Cleanser fluid streaming from his optics, he swore long and vehemently as he ran a self-diagnostic. Visuals: one-hundred percent functional. Touch sensitivity: One-hundred percent. And Audios: slightly less than three percent functionality! He scowled as he reflected, _Now we can both be deaf? Oh, goody!_ Any sense of caring and concern vanished as if it had never existed. Warily boosting what remained of his hearing to the top power level, he winced at the sting of raw static on his sensors. Someone of the organic variety was about to be in a world of agony! His engine rumbling like approaching thunder, he grabbed his previously forgotten syringe and turned her way.

Already trying to scramble out from under an unrelenting giant alien hand, she yelped in alarm when the pressure increased enough to knock the air out of her lungs. Brown eyes rose to behold the largest syringe in the history of the world! All color drained from her features. Behind that spear-like medical tool, were a pair of electric blue optics, now darkened into an inky sea of midnight outrage. Two pinpricks of light danced wickedly in his optics, the only sign he wasn't a spawn of Unicron sent to eat the sparks of the living. She swallowed. Heart pounding, she watched the instrument of her destruction shift position, and slowly lower toward her defenseless left arm.

"HEY, RATCHET," a youthful Cybertronian voice bellowed at the top of his vocalizer.

For a brief, frightening moment, Ratchet's servo slipped. With full unrelenting force, the syringe slammed into the medi-berth point down! An organic screech ripped through his audios and chilled his spark to the core. All previous ire was immediately forgotten and his optics became such a pale shade of blue in his panic that they nearly looked white. Frantically, he scanned the teenager from head to toe, examining her from a molecular level, all the way up to the structural integrity of every muscle, organ, and bone! _Don't be offline_, the medic internally chanted, optics ranging wildly over the prone femme that was pinned to the metal berth like a butterfly. _Is there blood? A punctured lung or kidney? Please, Primus! Anything but that! _Processor racing, he searched the Internet for trauma treatments, only to slump in relief as the final prognosis arrived on his HUD. _Oh, good. She's undamaged._

Cringing in lingering terror, Cassidy opened squeezed shut eyes to gaze at the gigantic alien needle, as big as a rolling-pin, buried into the metal tabletop up to the hilt. The one imbedded in her curly hair two inches away from her scalp. Blue optics were also regarding that needle with a sense of lingering fear. Slowly, Ratchet lifted his helm to consider the thoughtless slagger who had almost caused him to offline his patient.

"Yeesh, she sure has a healthy set of vocals," Bumblebee declared with innocent good cheer. He grinned as he rubbed the side of his helm in lingering pain. "So, anyway, Sari and I are going to the drive in movie tonight, and we were wondering if Cassie wanted to come! What do you say, Doc-bot? Think you could tear loose of her for a few breams?"

"Bumblebee," Ratchet greeted, his Cybertronian laced with tenuous civility. It was the calm before the storm. With casual violence, the medi-bot jerked the syringe out of the solid steel berth it was imbedded in with a minimum of effort. The ragged hole it left behind pierced straight through the two foot thick slab. Rage filled blue optics considered the yellow scout with a casual, almost clinical air. A certain youngling was now due for a series of inoculations that were going to be numerous and agonizing. "Do you mean to tell me," he continued, his voice becoming steadily louder. "That you hacked my security locks..." Now a growl overtook his words. "Broke into my med-bay..." Steam was seeping out of his open vents now, and metallic features began super-heating like metal in a blacksmith's forge. "Almost off-lined my patient..." His optics had now darkened to midnight, his pupils shining white hot. "And severely fragged me off..." By now, his words had transformed into a veritable roar. "Over a SLAGGING MOVIE?!"

"Aaagh," Bumblebee screeched, his baby blue optics flaring in panic. Too late, he remembered that there was a reason why his nickname for the doctor was, 'The Hatchet!' "But, obviously, she's still busy," he swiftly amended, hurriedly backing away. Ten sharp claws sprouted from the medic's servos, glinting and terrible. Ratchet's engine snarled as he took a thunderous footstep closer. "Gah," the yellow scout yelped, almost falling down. Staggering, he backed up even faster. Now he was chattering his words, the Cybertronian spilling from his vocalizer like a rapid fire electric guitar riff. "So, I'll leave the two of you alone now! Okay?! Bye!" And now the war-veteran's wrench collection was making an appearance! All fifty-two of them! Recognizing impending agony when he saw it, the scout transformed where he stood and almost crashed into the wall. Another heavy thud shook the ground, and Bee's rear-view mirror was at the perfect angle to see a grizzled, snarling face right behind him. 'Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear,' were the words written in English right below the reflection. Why had he never noticed that slagging message?! Clawed servos reached for his defenseless rear bumper and the scout tore up concrete in his efforts to escape! The lingering scent of burning rubber filled the hallway long after he'd careened out of sight.

Venting long and heated huffs of air, Ratchet stared at the scorch marks and pot-holes marring the concrete floor outside. Midnight optics gradually faded to navy and slid closed. Shuddering, the medi-bot sagged against the door-frame. _Close, so terribly close, _he reflected in lingering horror. _ If my servo had been two point eight inches to the left when that glitch-headed youngling had come barreling through the door...? _In his mind's eye came the unbidden image of organic fluid, crushed bones, and death... too much death. _No! Best not to think about it!_ Desperate to focus on anything else, he noticed the condition of his damaged hypodermic needle. Dulled to the point of uselessness, it would have to be sharpened again, to say nothing of the buffing job he'd need to give the rest of it. _ I'll have to use the needle that's the next size up._ He grimaced at the thought. If her reaction had been that bad for the smallest size, what would she do when she was confronted by one that was approximately two meters longer? _Well, no matter_, Ratchet decided, his expression hardening. _Both are equally sharp; more than adequate for the task of removing a micro-gram of organic fluid from the little Human. And I'm getting it whether she likes it or not!_

"Alright, youngling," the medi-bot announced out loud as he turned around. "Let's get this fragging thing over with... Huh?!" Optics wide, he scanned a medi-berth that was decidedly organic free! His subroutines kicked in and did an automatic sweep of the entire room, noting every tool, piece of furniture, and organic down to the smallest microbe... including one errant Human. Turning, he growled at the elusive glimpse of a certain teenager scurrying out of the still open med-bay doors. "Cassidy, get the frag back here!"

This led to a merry drive though Detroit's industrial district, thanks to a certain scout leaving the base doors wide open. And don't think he wasn't giving him a solid telling off for that little stunt! Last time something like this had happened, a bunch of slagging 'Con's had wandered into the base and trashed everything! A quick scan revealed that she had ducked into one of the derelict warehouses across the street... and out the other side through a broken window. Searching further revealed that she'd also crossed the street beyond that one and ducked down an alley that was too narrow for his alt-mode. Already seeing where this was going, he scanned as far as his sensors could reach and at last found her... five blocks away! Rolling his optics, Ratchet transformed into his vehicular mode: a large, van shaped search and rescue vehicle. Putting himself in gear, he flew forward only to slam on his breaks and curse loud and long. His sight map had just informed him that that section of the city was located in a special area, one that could only be reached through one way streets, extra-wide city blocks, and numerous detours. It was going to take him forty-five minutes, at least, to reach her scrawny little aft! Slagging organic city planning. Thanks to two signals, road construction, and a new Sumdac robotics plant blocking off his route, he was seventy-three minutes and eighteen seconds late retrieving her. She'd taken advantage of that by traveling even further into the heart of the city. The little slagger!

Kicking and screaming, the medic at last dragged Cass back to the med-bay and firmly locked the doors. It was time to take a blood sample, and this time he was determined to obtain it! If only he knew what had happened to the syringe he was going to use! He'd already put the old, blunted needle into the 'repair' bucket for future sharpening, and he had the next size up in his servo, but what had happened to the syringe? Yet again, his processor strayed to that oh-so-tempting stash of high-grade in his top desk drawer. The urge to toss the organic out and indulge in his kind's version of alcohol was almost too strong to bear! With a strength of will that was almost painful, he dragged himself away from temptation. First, the Pit-Spawned organic! Then he could drink himself unconscious! Where was that slagging syringe? That was when his pede unexpectedly arrived on the tool in question, he slipped, and he fell on the concrete ground hard enough to leave a crater!

Having been dropped on the steel medi-berth hard enough to leave bruises, the brunet was already wincing and rubbing her butt. That hadn't been fun but at least that terrible ringing was gone from her ears. Glaring defiantly at the giant responsible for the initial hearing loss, she was about to tell him off only to abruptly wince when he wobbled and dropped like a stone. Or a really large boulder. Yeah, that definition worked, too. She was about to peer over the edge when rumbling shook the metal table under her feet like a crash of thunder. Belatedly, Cassidy realized that it was actually a growl. Hot steam gusted around her in an all obscuring, filthy fog that she recognized perfectly well from previous experiences. Robot breath, ugh!

Another rumble of thunder shook the berth and she staggered, barely keeping her feet. Squinting through the sting of filthy recycled air, her hair even more of a tangled mess than usual, she tensed even more. Slowly rising above the lip of the giant sized table was a very large hump-backed shape. At first, the brunet thought it might be a whale. Was she hallucinating? But she swore that's what it was! The size of a city bus, it was all rounded with a glossy white, glistening hide... Then the steamy fog cleared slightly and she blinked in disbelief.

Within one massive flipper it held something sharp and glittering. 'A harpoon,' the brunet wondered, blinking in surprise. This reaffirmed that she was experiencing the mother of all hallucinations. After all, it was crazy to imagine a white whale armed with a harpoon. Hah, hah, right? She was tempted to make sure she wasn't dressed up as Captain Ahab. If that was the case... well, she was running like crazy. And if she wasn't wearing an antiquated captain's uniform? She was still running! Either way, this was one messed up dream!

Finally daring to look away from this awe inspiring sight, Cassidy at last looked down at her clothes. 'Oh, thank God,' she mused, slumping in place. 'I'm not wearing an old-fashioned dark blue coat, and there isn't any tri-cornered hat! That proves I'm not playing the part of Ahab in this messed up nightmare!' It wasn't until midnight blue optics glowed to life and focused on her, narrowing to slits, that she realized what she was really looking at: Ratchet. Suddenly, her mind drew a correlation. Ratchet wasn't the white whale, he was the one who was playing the role of Captain Ahab, armed with a harpoon sized syringe and hunting her! Her eyes fixated on the shiny silver implement of her future impaling, she began backing away. An extremely angry, whale sized, killer-robot-mode Ratchet... And her butt was the target!

Earthquakes shuddered beneath the metal under her feet and engine growls rose still higher. Humid smog swirled around her like a sweltering wet blanket, smothering her skin in an instant machine oil scented sauna. Cassidy felt like a wilted flower. Shadows as thick and gloomy as a moonless night slowly grew across the medi-berth as Ratchet rose to his full height. Incensed optics focused down until they settled like twin spotlights on her miniscule body. As growls continued to crash around her, the brunet withered a little more. Feeling thoroughly sorry for herself, she moaned, "I miss school." Then she was moving!

"Not this again! Hold still, frag-it," Ratchet growled for the twenty-eighth time. Taking a fluid sample was normally an easy affair. Simply locate an energon-line between armor seams, insert the needle, remove the necessary amount, and withdraw. It was twenty times more difficult when the patient was only slightly bigger than a newborn sparkling. Add in the fact that the little slagger was as hard to pin down as a turbo-fox on accelerator drugs, and the problems multiplied into the hundreds! He was honestly amazed that he'd managed to drag her onto the examination-berth again. Now, if only he could pin the little Pit-Spawn down... Incensed navy blue optics focused on Cassidy. Tense and equally annoyed, the organic glared back. Then he pounced! A growl of frustration rumbled up from his frame as she, yet again, dodged out of the way. Enunciating each word carefully and clearly, he repeated himself, "I. Said. Hold. Still."

"N-no way," she stuttered defiantly as she warily eyed the sheer drop off over the side of the medi-berth. Great! She was on one of the sides that didn't have a handy way to get down. A movement from the medic had her abruptly staring back like a panicked bird. The monitor behind her showcased an abrupt spike in adrenaline. With an effort, she fought it back and tried to focus on something else. Like an argument! Gesturing at her opponents weapon of choice, she offered her own opinion. "You've got to be kidding me! That thing's the size of a freaking harpoon!"

"It's the smallest hypodermic syringe left in my inventory," Ratchet growled back, his claws beginning to extend. Yet again, her adrenaline levels jumped. Wary optics studied the monitor system. With an effort, the medi-bot retracted his claws back into his servos, and watched as the Human's heart-rate slowed to a more reasonable pace. He vented a sigh. At least the little glitch was attempting to curb her instincts. Trying to placate her, the Autobot continued, "And the needle's not much longer than a meter..." Adrenaline levels spiked again, and he eyed the battle ready Human who stood tense and wary on the far end of the medi-berth. An exasperated huff of air gusted out of his intakes. "Youngling, is a simple fluid-draw really so terrible? I only need a small sample... barely more than a drop or two for my records."

Phrases like 'Fluid-Draw' didn't go over well, as demonstrated by Cassidy's abrupt increase in heart-rate. With an effort, she fought it back and replaced it with anger. "Get my records from my Human doctor," the brunet growled back. "I've had him since kindergarten... Or better yet, call those government goons for my files. I felt like swiss cheese by the time they were through 'examining' me." They had also, she was sure, inserted a few tracking devices under her skin. A grimace stole across her features at the disgusting thought before she ruthlessly shoved it out of her mind. So what if her own government had decided to treat her like a prized pet spaniel? The brunet held no illusions over the terrors a government entity could visit upon a defenseless human being. America was no shining beacon of virtue in that regard, she was certain. Eying her current opponent, she tried for the diplomatic approach... again. Hey, just because it hadn't worked the first seventeen times didn't mean it was going to fail this time, too! Right?

"Look, Hon," Cassidy coaxed, doing her level best to ignore his nearly constant, bone rattling growls. "I realize yah want to help me, but seriously, I'm fine!" A huff of air blurred her vision and she squinted through the fumes. It was probably for the best if she did not comment on the hot puffs of steam rising up off of his metal hide, which smelled strongly of overheated machine parts and industrial chemicals. Another huff of air from super-heated armor vents filled her view and Cass wiped the sweat from her forehead. Talk about disgusting! Was it even possible for them to take a breath-mint? Would it help if she poured mouthwash in there? She was jarred from her thoughts by the alien doctor's next words.

"Fine?" A rude gust of air vented from his systems in their kinds version of a derisive laugh. Sitting back, he crossed his massive rust painted arms and raised an optic-ridge at her. "You're only 'fine' when I say you are, youngling! And not a moment before that!" Observing her mulish expression, he raised an optic ridge. "Tell me, Cassidy. What would happen if the 'Cons attacked and you were injured? Knowing how your body functions under normal circumstances would make repairing you that much easier."

"Woah, woah," the brunet interrupted him, waving her arms. "First of all, I'm not staying around here any longer than I have to! In fact, I'm planning on moving out of lunatic-central before the week is out, so yah don't have to worry about me ever again." She cringed at the abrupt growl that rose up off of the alien and immediately back-peddled. "Not that it's a bad thing to be crazy... I figure it's a survival trait or something." When the growling didn't cease, and blue optics again began a downward shift toward a darkened shade of furious, the brunet hurriedly continued on. "Right! Well, secondly, what would a bunch of giant robots care about me? I'm not even a blip on their radar!"

"And yet," Ratchet drawled. "Swindle took an interest in you."

"Extenuating circumstances," the teenager tossed off his argument with a dismissive wave. "It's not like he's planning on doing it again."

"Those 'Extenuating Circumstances' are exactly why you're here," Ratchet declared, nearing the end of his tenuous patience. "And I can tell you, since that little kidnapping stunt, there are going to be a lot more 'Cons hot on your pedes, whether you live with us or not! NOW, HOLD STILL!"

"OW," Cassidy screeched as the needle hit home. Wide eyed and pale, she stared at the giant needle jabbed into her upper arm... the kind that was big enough to joust with. She swallowed hard and her mind raced. The impulse to rip it out (attack, fly into a rage, anything) sprang to the forefront of her mind. Yet that was impossible. She'd rip it out, if it wasn't for the equally oversized metal hands encompassing her entire left arm. Now some distinctly red liquid was beginning to appear within the clear tube of the massive syringe. Bile rose up and the world swirled. Hurriedly, she looked away and caught sight of Ratchet's equally humongous craggy metal face. She glared. "What are yah trying to do? Remove a limb?!"

"Don't tempt me," Ratchet grumbled, removing the needle just as harshly. Before she could lick it, or whatever the frag her species did with an injury, he began binding it with some medical grade gauze. Once that was accomplished, he vented out a relieved sigh. Still holding on to her miniscule arm, he eyed her halfway terrified, stubborn expression. "Honestly, youngling," he groaned, shaking his head. Turning, he set the used syringe back on the tray and reached for the next instrument he needed to examine her with. "If you'd just learn to trust us a little more..." Twisting back her direction, he started in amazement. The Human was gone. Instead of the organic's arm, all he held pinched between his metal fingers was the unraveled medical bandage that had been wrapped around her injury. Hearing the faint pattering of running organic feet beating a hasty retreat down the hall for the fourth fragging time, his optics darkening in returning outrage. In an echoing roar he bellowed, "I'm going to glue you to the slagging door frame!"

_The Decepticon monitor room, right before shift rotation..._

"Whoo, hoo, hoo," Blitzwing hooted, spinning around in his chair. Random was in full control, and for once, neither of his other persona's had a problem with it. Pausing mid-twirl, he clinked oil barrels with the Constructicon who had been nice enough to share some of his stash. Who knew the Autobots were so amusing? As the tiny organic, yet again, slipped away from the medic's questionable care, he cheered, "Nice one!"

"I'll say," Mixmaster enthused, his face-plates super-heated with laughter. Watching Ratchet vault headlong over the medi-berth while spewing the kinds of curses that would make a Constructicon proud, the mech chortled, "Had no idea the old guy had it in him." Taking a swig of Cybertron's finest, the 'Con snickered into his drink. _Now this is the life_, he reflected to himself. _Good oil, good company, and the best entertainment I've ever seen on the big screen! Have to do this again some time! _Unknowingly, he was echoing the triple-chager's thoughts, perfectly.


	8. Chapter 8

Counterfeit

Chapter 8: New Developments

By: Mooncrossed

_Hello everyone! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and a great New Year! Many thanks go out to XxShadowfangxX (it always struck me that the Autobot base was a sitcom waiting to happen. Glad you liked it!), to Imaginator-Creator (Winces... Yeah, sorry about how long it was. Like I said, it started out small and then grew into a monster. And thanks for the advice!), to TheChildGrim (Grin. Cass is a little high strung, isn't she? Poor Ratchet... Happy you're enjoying the story), to RedtailHawk19 (Swindle is off hatching his next evil plot! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!), to Dragons redemption (thanks!), to Noella50881 (it's not that difficult to get on Ratchet's bad side. Cassidy has a special talent for that. Glad you liked it!), to Bumblebeecamaro38 (Yeah, Nicky had quite a scare. And when it comes to Ratchet, the medic always wins! Happy you're enjoying the story), and to Angel Rarity (thank you! As for your question... I tried asking Cassidy about her feelings, but she won't return my calls, and when I posed the same question to Swindle, I suddenly found myself owning stocks on an off-world titanium mine that hasn't yielded ore in centuries. He swears that it will pay off! Meanwhile, he wants another payment. Kidding) I don't own Transformers, the Internet, Terrible Teens (if such a book actually exists), Technicolor, fiberglass, Bengay, High-Top basketball shoes, or The Princess Bride. Now, on with the show! _

_Early that morning at the Autobot base..._

Everything hurt. This was the realization Cassidy came to when she peeled her eyes blearily open that Tuesday morning. Her joints ached, she had a weird taste in her mouth, her teeth felt like somebody had gone over them with a belt-sander, and what felt like half a dozen cattle brands littered her body. "Why do I feel so...?" Then yesterday's events intruded on her brain in full Technicolor surround sound. Dropping her head back to the pillow, she groaned, "Oh, yeah...Ratchet...ugh..." If she never saw another stupid doctor, alien or otherwise, it would be too soon. Briefly, she imagined being tall enough to kick the snot out of the robotic bastard. This fantasy was enough to carry her halfway to dreamland... Too bad she had to use the bathroom.

Grumbling, Cassidy set to work untying herself from the cloth spiderweb she had managed to tie herself up in over the course of the night. How she managed to twist herself this thoroughly in her bed sheets, she'd never know. It wasn't until she was working on freeing her left leg that she happened to glance up. Then she stared. The brunet actually had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. There was a huge thirty foot tall picture over her bed... of what, she wasn't sure. Blotchy yellow, green, blue, and orange paint blobs decorated a sheaf of paper the size of a small sofa. Cass squinted at it, even as she untied the last knot immobilizing her foot. Some of those blotches were maybe... flowers? A few of them had little slashes across the middle that might be mouths. Well, the yellow one in the center definitely had a face, judging by the googly eyes and the squiggly streaks surrounding it. Maybe it was a misshapen happy sun? As decorations went, it was an odd addition to say the least, and she wondered about when it had arrived. Frowning in contemplation, she squirmed out of a quadruple wrapped blanket. Actually, she didn't really have any memories of going to bed. Yawning, she sarcastically reflected, 'Must have passed out right around the fiftieth electrocution. Oops! I mean Scan!'

This inspired all kinds of nerve wracking possibilities. Every inch of her body hurt one way or another. Even her mouth felt weird, almost like her bite was off. She ran her tongue over her teeth experimentally. Sleepily taking stock of herself, she noted to her relief that she was wearing the shredded remains of yesterday's outfit. Yet, it still left too many possibilities in the air. "Well, first thing's first," she groaned, performing a bone-popping stretch. "Find the bathroom, then get coffee."

Finally falling out of her hopelessly tangled bed sheets, she laid upon the concrete panting. At that moment, it occurred to her that a new outfit might be necessary. Perhaps it was the fact that her clothes looked like they had been through a nuclear disaster. Her tee-shirt had giant sized rips and burn marks across the front and back. Pure white underwear was on display for the whole world to see, thanks to the equally obvious claw holes going along the butt. Either way, she was barely legal. She yawned as she made her way over to the shelving unit against the wall.

Somebody had fixed it... kind of. A few slats hung at drunken angles, causing their contents to slide to one side or the other, but the aliens had done their best to piece it together. Diligent searching yeilded a pair of jeans, and a long-sleeved tee-shirt, but where were her undergarments? Starting at the top, Cassidy skimmed over the contents. Let's see... Sneakers, jeans, jeans, sweatshirts, Rover... She gave the fruppy curled up on the third shelf a friendly pat, and ignored the way it happily drooled green slime on her favorite jacket. It wasn't until she was near the bottom that she found them. Apparently, the robots had piled everything they hadn't figured out a logical use for in one spot. Rummaging around a bike helmet, a catcher's glove, a leather belt, underwear, and every pair of socks she owned, she encountered something alive! "Gaaah," the brunet shrieked, jumping back in alarm. "What the...!?" The whatever it was slithered out into the open and considered her with curious whiskers. "Oh, Nicky, quit freaking me out like that!" Her heart hammering, she watched the living dress proceed to inchworm across the floor.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the clothing shelves. Considering the daily wear and tear of living with a bunch of lunatic extraterrestrials, Cassidy selected garments that were a little more durable than what she usually wore: jeans made of a denim that was so thick it could double as burlap, and a faded tee-shirt that had survived three summer camps in a row. Deodorant, soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a washcloth joined the growing pile. It really sucked having to take a twenty minute walk to the nearest bathroom. At last, the bundle rolled up under her arm, she flopped down on her tire-bed to put her shoes on. She was stifling a yawn while putting on her left shoe when something unexpectedly nudged her arm. Reaching behind her, she gave Nicky a reassuring pat. Apparently, this was considered an invitation because the brunet suddenly found an alien dress crowding into her lap. She shoved the overly affectionate textile aside and resumed putting on her shoes. Just as she was tying her sneakers, scraggly black whiskers unexpectedly got tangled up in the bindings. "No, Nicky," she mumbled as she sleepily untied the mess of laces and alien. "Not now... I'll take you for a walk after school." Done with her shoes, she reached for her clothes and her toiletry supplies only to get an insistent dress instead. "Oof... Nicky, I told you. You'll get your walk later." An abrupt chirping noise came from the shelving unit and a fruppy suddenly tumbled into view. With big brown eyes, Rover stared adorably up at her. She shifted her gaze. Beseeching alien whiskers peered sightlessly at her frowning face. Now two aliens were giving her their best kicked puppy impersonations. Cass sighed.

Three minutes later, Cassidy stood sullenly in the middle of her bedroom wearing a very much alive alien dress... and sneakers. Happily panting, Rover waited by the door. "I hate it when you two tag team me," the brunet grumbled as she scooped up her bundle of toiletries and jeans. Stalking across the warehouse sized room, she swung open the door... and slammed it shut again while cursing profusely. They'd repaired the insanely bright florescent lights, those monsters! Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she did her level best to blink the light spots out of her vision. 'If they've destroyed my shades,' Cass groused. 'I'm going to rip them a new... Ah-hah!' There, resting nice and pretty upon her night stand (actually an old shipping crate) were her sunglasses. They were even polished!

Reverently picking up this most vital protection against alien insanity, the teenager put them on. 'Ahhh... Such a relief.' Better protected she crept back to the door, snagging her military issue duffel-bag as she went. It had the rest of her books in it, as well as a secondary ID card, which she'd need if she was going to get any replacements for the stuff Prowl had encased in concrete. She stopped. Turning, she went back to the clothing shelves and dug around. Tossing aside her grappling hook, she removed a long, slinky, shadowy garment and stuffed it in the bag. Two months ago, it had been given to her with a wide gash in one shoulder. Now, it was repaired, and it was high time a certain sneak-thief got it back.

As warily as a vampire testing for daylight, the brunet slowly pushed the door open. The first rays of artificial florescence touched her features and she flinched. Nothing happened. Satisfied, though no less grumpy, she began making the long painful journey toward bathrooms and caffeine. Rover raced around her feet in figure eights and concentric circles, while Nicky (who was still a little upset with her) had scrunched up around her legs like a pair of baggy harem pants. It was hard going. She swore she saw half a dozen mirages in the blinding artificial lights as she staggered down the hallway. 'Maybe I need a bicycle?' Stopping up short at the thought, she blinked. 'Now there's an idea! My mountain-bike is busted beyond repair, thanks to Mom's loaning it out to Weasel's destructive little brothers, but Kit's bike is still working perfectly.' The only drawback to this little plan was the fact that her brother worshiped his bike. If she so much as breathed on it's shining bronze paint job, he tended to go ballistic. 'Still, I do need transportation of the non-living kind... And he is currently residing in Japan... Provided I keep it pristine, I should be able to get away with borrowing it.' Contemplating the possibilities, she at last arrived in the main room of the Autobot base.

Amazingly enough, the gathering in the rec-room was a somber affair. She swore she could hear crickets chirping. No, no, wait! Turning, the brunet zeroed in on where the sound was coming from. Okay, so it was actually Bumblebee's squeaky right elbow, but it could have been crickets! Yawning, the brunet continued ever onward past the slumbering scout, who was sprawled out on the concrete couch in a state of enviable unconsciousness. The bathroom beckoned. Pushing open the restroom door, she waited long enough to let the fruppy in before letting it swing shut. Then she glanced down. "Okay, Nicky," she declared. "The ride's over now."

Long scraggly alien feelers, looking so much like rotting black lace, lifted up off the collar of the dress and peered at her sightlessly. "Go on," Cassidy encouraged. "I want to do my business." The garment seemed to shiver slightly before everything drooped toward the ground in defeat. Reluctantly, Nicky slithered off of the teenager's body and settled in a heap on the floor. Then it perked up! Standing against the wall was a long row of objects...they looked like big bowls filled with water. Rover was already exploring and filled with curiosity, the alien followed after it.

Unaware of the problem arising, Cassidy was doing her level best to clean up using only a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a miniscule bathroom sink. "How does Sari do it?" The brunet paused in her efforts to remove grass stains and grime from one bare leg. "I mean," the teenager continued out loud. "She doesn't stink, which is a miracle considering this is the only place I've found around here that could qualify as a place to..." Trailing off, she squinted at her reflection. Call her crazy, but were her teeth... extra-shiny. Opening her mouth revealed solid metal caps over five of her back molars! A pale, almost white gold color, they stood out brilliantly amongst normal enamel and pink gums. Speechless with disbelief, she stared at this new addition and knew exactly who was responsible. "Ratchet," she muttered. "You meddling son of a..." Twisting around, she exclaimed, "ROVER?!"

"Croak?" An amphibious froggy face blinked back at her in innocent confusion over the top of the toilet lid. Panting happily, the fruppy puffed up his green frilled body proudly before deciding to show off how well he could do the back-stroke! Standing there in nothing but her sneakers and undergarments, Cassidy was less than appreciative.

"Ewww," Cassidy exclaimed, flinching away from a particularly violent splash. "Bad fruppy, get out of there! That's disgusting! If yah want to go for a swim that badly, I'll take yah to the local duck pond!" Since the little alien wasn't obeying, and she wasn't technically clean yet, she reluctantly hoisted him out of his watery playpen. Marching the soggy miscreant across the tiled room, she plopped him down in the sink and turned on the faucet. Rover had been in the process of attempting to escape... And then the first blast of warm water hit him. Croaking in startled surprise, he looked around in astonishment. A soapy washcloth arrived and he was on cloud nine! Chirping contentedly, Rover rolled onto his back and showcased his tummy.

"Silly animal," Cassidy mumbled. She tried to be angry, really she did. Despite her best efforts, she still found herself snickering at the fruppy's antics. Mentally vowing to never let him into the restroom again, she continued to soap up the small alien. Just as she was turning on the faucet again to spray him off, a new sound occurred... A rattling sound. Twisting around, she took one look and screeched, "NICKY!?" At the flare up of dangerous emotions pouring off the teenager, the living garment lifted it's bewhiskered, sightless head out of the open toilet to regard her. "Get out of there you crazy..." Cass flinched as the filthy alien cartwheeled away with an almighty splash making her screech at the shock. Friendly chirps made the cringing girl twist around to look at Rover. Climbing out of the sink, the sopping wet amphibious canine gave her a toothless, sopping wet smile. Then it fully extended every frill until it resembled a blooming flower. Her eyes widened and she began to back away. "No Rover," she declared warningly as she backed away from the poised animal. "Shaking is a bad idea! I mean it, Hon. Don't even think about..."

Water exploded off of the small alien in rivulets as he began to shake himself off like a dog. Walls, ceiling, toilets, and Cassidy, it coated everything in sudsy water. She had no idea how Rover could hold so much! Screeching in alarm at her second involuntary shower of the day, the teenager staggered back only to slip on wet tiles and land on her butt. That was the last straw! Ten minutes later, the brunet finally had both aliens rounded up and was marching them toward the door. It was difficult. Rover felt simply awful about hurting her and was constantly bathing her arms, her face, and anything he could reach in a thick coating of green slime. Nicky was less sympathetic, constantly trying to squirm out of her grip, cling to walls, the floor, and even the ceiling in it's efforts not to be tossed out the door. An Irish temper could only withstand so much before snapping. Covered in green slime, toilet water and soap suds, with two squirming otherworldly animals in her arms, the teenager was beyond that point. Propping the door open with one bare leg, she heaved the two aliens into the air... and screamed.

"What the frag are you doing in there, youngling," Ratchet demanded, his craggy metal visage hovering right outside. His scowl deepened as the door slammed closed hard enough to shake the wall. An engine growl began deep within his chassis. He had been fully prepared to ignore the weird noises coming out of the organic waste-facilities... until she had started screaming. Now he was bent over in a very uncomfortable position, and he still didn't have answers. A back strut ached in a particularly painful electrical arc and he glowered at the closed barrier. "Oh, I'm sorry," he drawled, his words filled with sarcastic good grace. "Is this a bad time to make sure you haven't off-lined yourself?"

"YES," Cassidy called back, a squeak of embarrassment heightening her voice. Plastered against the closed door in the vain hope of preventing it from ever opening again, she stared at her mortified expression in the mirror. She hadn't known she could blush from head to toe. In silence, her heart pounding, and a pair of confused aliens clutched to her chest, she listened to the giant killer robot hovering outside. It was awful to be seen in nothing but a bra and panties... and sneakers... The brunet's blush deepened to cherry. Ratchet, fortunately, seemed to figure out what her dilemma was.

"Oh, don't be so modest, youngling," the medic chided in abrupt understanding. He huffed out a chuckle. "It's not like I haven't seen you without your organic armor on! Why, just last night, I had to strip you down to your protoform to perform surgery on your..."

"Not helping, Doc," Cass yelped, covering her ears. "Couldn't yah, I don't know... Give me a little privacy? Or something?" She didn't want to know about the alien experiments that had been performed on her while she was fast asleep and helpless. All she wanted was a good scrub down, with no witnesses, and coffee! Oh, how she needed caffeine! Any kind would do! In silence, she listened to machinery groaning and then the heavy stomp of receding footfalls. This was followed by the discordant electric guitar tones of an annoyed robot ranting in cyber-speech as he stomped away. Once she was certain she had at least a marginal amount of space between her and Ratchet, she sagged in relief. Both dress and fruppy were immediately ejected from the restroom and she set to work cleaning herself up.

At last emerging, the brunet marched through the glaring bright lights, determined to reach the kitchen before she could get fried. It was obvious the Detroit native wasn't made for desert conditions. She didn't notice the giant robot standing in her way until she ran into him. "Ow," Cass grumbled, rubbing a bopped nose. Staggering back, the teenager stopped and stared. Then it registered that the tree that had magically appeared in her path was actually a giant leg. Slowly raising her head, it was to regard an equally annoyed looking medic glaring down at her. "Hey, Doc," she growled. "Yah mind explaining the new hardware?"

"By all means," Ratchet replied with a huff of annoyance. "Your denta's were damaged and after examining the inferior repair work that had been done to them previously, I chose to use a much more effective method. They were replaced with..."

"Replaced?!" Cassidy stared goggle-eyed up at the alien. Suddenly, her desire for coffee rose several notches. "Who gave you permission to...?"

"I did," the medi-Bot declared with growling finality. "As I was saying, they were replaced with titanium alloy, a much more durable, and in my opinion, far more attractive metal than the composite patch that your kind are using. With the sulfide coating, they will not crack or corrode inside the destructive environment of your mouth. In fact, long after your organic body has wasted away, your titanium teeth will remain. You may thank me now."

"I'd prefer to have my old teeth back," Cassidy grumbled. Her hands on her hips and feeling deeply violated, she glared up at the behemoth with the fearless attitude one tends to acquire after too many injustices. "You know, the kind that don't look like they're covered with old tea stains."

"Which won't happen," Ratchet informed her. "Not only did I have to give your organic fuel pump a jump-start over the course of the oral surgery, but your old enamel teeth have already been disposed of. Any other useless opinions you'd like to share?"

Already walking toward the safe haven of coffee makers and cool shadows, Cassidy presented her answer in the form of a very rude gesture. She was too tired for anything else. Once there, she dropped her duffel-bag and dove on the cupboard housing her wall mounted coffee-maker. Caffeine was needed in the worst way!

"Younglings these days," Ratchet muttered as his Internet search engine finally found the answer for her perplexing sign language. "Having no respect for their elders." He shook his head. Still grumbling to himself about ungrateful organics, the medi-bot focused back on the data-pad he'd been reading.

'Terrible Teens: A how-to guide for the harried parent,' the text proclaimed proudly. Rolling his optics ceiling-ward, he nonetheless began reading the book he'd downloaded off the Internet. He wasn't the femme's creator in any sense... Thank Primus! Yet, that didn't stop him from reading up on every manual he could get his servos on. After the Pit of a night he'd spent repairing Cassidy, he felt he needed it. Everything from psychological disorders (badly written core programming), all the way to medical studies on diseases (virus downloads) had been studied carefully.

So far, he had diagnosed half a dozen phobias, two psychological disorders, and a slag heap of other problems in his newest patient: Cassidy Jane Nulte... And he blamed Optimus for making him responsible for her! A loud zap filled the air, followed by the strong stench of ozone and a string of organic curses. Blue optics immediately zeroed in on the teenager in the kitchen... as she danced around wildly, waving her arms. Then she shoved the fingers of one hand in her mouth. At last, he inquired, "What, the frag, are you doing?"

"Mph," was Cassidy's incoherent answer as she looked up. The wall plug continued to spark and sizzle in the mother of all short-circuits. She hated it when that happened! It suddenly occurred to her how ridiculous she looked, dancing around in circles with one hand shoved down her throat. A blush suffused her features as her audience of one continued to stare down at her. With a casual air, the teenager took her burned fingers out of her mouth and rinsed them off under the faucet. There was no way she owed any explanations to the owner of all things sharp and needle shaped. Pointedly ignoring the medic, she removed the coffee-maker from the faulty outlet. Then, turning, she debated over where to plug it in now. At the sink? Nah. By the fridge? Maybe...but that might blow out the breaker. Or should she pick the one under the kitchen cabinets? That was when an electrical jolt skittered along her spine from an entirely different source. "Gaah," she yelped, barely keeping a grip on the coffeemaker through the ensuing electrocution. Spinning around, she exclaimed, "Would yah let me make coffee in peace?! Go belly flop on a building or something! Yeesh!"

"You're... making coffee," Ratchet echoed with something akin to disbelief. For a long moment, they stared at one another in silence. Looking down at the data-pad in his servos, he considered 'Terrible Teens,' before tossing it aside. Then he went rummaging. Shuffling aside this data-disk and that data-disk until he at last found it! 'Psychology: how to diagnose and treat Human illnesses.' There had to be an answer about her behavior in here somewhere! Turning away, the medic shuffled to the other side of the room for a little peace and quiet. Besides, he didn't need to worry too much. The nanotechnology he'd packed into the femme's sunglasses were sophisticated enough to track a satellite in space. They could easily track one measly organic.

Cass could care less if the alien thought she was crazy. At the moment, she was deeply enmeshed in watching her first six cups of coffee percolate. Brown eyes gazed with bleary wonder as drop after drop fell into the clear glass pitcher. Drip... drip... driii...

"HEY, CASSIDY," an echoing voice bellowed, making her flinch. The owner of that deafening set of robotic lungs paused. Then a new sound filled the air, a sort of screeching, scraping, squealing noise like steel on fiberglass. "Oh," the alien intoned with a sheepish sort of soft rumble. "Sorry, about that..."

"Nah," Cass mumbled, getting her mug and pouring a healthy amount of fresh coffee in. "Don't worry about it." And she was over it, sort of. Maybe it was unpleasant, but having a random giant killer robot scream in her ear was actually pretty normal. At least that scraping noise had stopped. Turning her head, she was at first unsure of what she was looking at. Two piles of thick, lumpy green metal sat in front of her. The brunet squinted. It looked almost as if somebody had stacked a bunch of metal trash-cans haphazardly together, hit them with a blow-torch, spray painted them green, and called it an artistic masterpiece! Then one of the trash-can lids moved and her eyebrows jumped into her hairline. Slowly, she looked up... and up... and up... Her sunglasses slid down her nose in disbelief.

"Hi," the giant green robot called from somewhere near the warehouse ceiling. He waved a servo the size of a baby-grand piano in a friendly manner. "I'm Bulkhead!"

"Hello," the brunet greeted right back, all the while wondering what hallucinogens had been slipped into her coffee this morning. 'Bulk-head, Bulk-everything,' Cassidy mused as she studied this lumpy giant with a sort of whimsical curiosity. In honest disbelief, she considered the behemoth of machinery currently giving her an adorable puppy-like grin. He looked vaguely familiar in a massive sort of way. She took another gulp of java in the hopes of jump-starting her memory. "Bulkhead?"

"Uh, huh," he eagerly agreed. "That's me! I'm, uh... not so great at balancing, and well... Sorry about your room!"

"My room," Cass echoed, squinting up at the pinnacle of the living mountain standing in her midst. That painful scraping noise had started again, setting her teeth on edge and causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. Her eyes tracked the sound until they arrived somewhere around the robot's neck. The alien had one huge metal hand rubbing the back of his helm in a distracted manner. It took her a moment to realize he was nervous. Hoping to stop him, she continued, "What do yah mean? You guys fixed it, right?"

"Well, sort of," the giant began, looking thoughtful. Noticing her expression, he hastily waved pincher claw tipped servos in a placating fashion. "Oh, don't worry! It's safe! We just ran out of concrete before we could really finish!"

"Good to know," the brunet sighed, yet again sinking into a caffeinated stupor. Cass was okay with the idea of standing next to the big guy while she drank her coffee. As long as he didn't forget she was there and go stomp, stomp, stomp... Her forehead wrinkling, the teenager took several healthy steps out of harms way before warily glancing back. Oh, now she remembered where she'd seen him before. He'd been working at removing the throwing stars out of her bedroom ceiling yesterday...right before it had all come crashing down. So, not all that graceful? Nice to know. And now he was doing that whole head rubbing thing again! Gritting her teeth, and hoping to distract him, she inquired, "So, what do yah mean about balancing?"

"Huh?" Bulkhead paused, momentarily startled out of his fretting by the odd statement. He had to back-track in his memory banks before he understood what she meant. Then his face-plates superheated to a fiery glow in embarrassment. "Oh, well... Um. You see, yesterday, when you were at High-School?" He paused to make way for her encouraging nod. "Well, when Sari was trapped, we were trying to corner that alien dress thingy, and it went into your room. In fact, it was hiding in your bed! We wouldn't have been able to track it if Sari hadn't been screaming so loud! So, anyways, me and Bee were coming closer and I was just reaching out to grab her... when I, er, tripped."

"Yah tripped," Cassidy repeated in absent disbelief. She blinked at this revelation. Noticing her coffee had grown cold, she walked over to the nearby microwave and popped it in for a minute long reheat. Then she put two and two together. Turning, she eyed the piano sized servos Bulkhead sported. Ah, so that was where that gigantic hand-print on the back of her bedroom wall had come from! And now she was re-evaluating the wisdom of standing even this close to the big guy. Clumsy and massive weren't exactly beneficial toward her continued chances of survival.

"Oh, don't worry," Bulkhead was hasty to reassure. "Sari was long gone before I even started to fall down! The point is... well, I'm sorry about the big hole over your bed! And I swear I'll get it fixed as soon as the next shipment of concrete arrives. We always have a couple of tons of the stuff shipped in at the beginning of every month..." He trailed off, considering how far the next shipment would go and winced. This had been a very bad couple of cycles. Then he noticed the organic that was still considering him and his face-plates superheated again. "Yeah. So anyway, I couldn't patch the hole with concrete, so I painted a picture for you instead!"

"Ah," Cass replied in stunned surprise. "Thanks big guy." So that's what he was getting at. The microwave beeped, and she gratefully retrieved her coffee mug. Mmm... nice and warm. Sleepily, she gazed up at the world's largest killer robot with an almost dazed kind of affection and saw something that wasn't all that obvious to the naked eye. He was just an oversized little kid! What he'd done was nice, in an unexpected kind of way. Opening her mouth to compliment him on his happy sunshine picture, he beat her to it.

"It's a portrait of you," he boasted proudly. "I worked on it all day long while you were hanging out with Ratchet. Do you like it?"

"L-like it? Uh," the brunet stuttered. "Sure, big guy! It's, um..." For a brief moment, her brain switched off and she flailed for a different compliment. One that wouldn't get her flattened. Wildly, she did her level best to remember the giant sized finger painting that now adorned her bedroom wall. It had been a mixture of blurry shapes that looked like flowers, and what she had thought was a splotchy yellow sun surrounded by rays. She'd just had no idea it was the artist's interpretation of what she'd look like post-stomping! Leaning against a nearby kitchen cabinet, she took a long fortifying drink. That was when the cabinet moved. Jerking her head up, she screamed! Right there, like a big spindle legged spider, was Prowl! His legs bent at odd angles with knees and elbows scraping the ceiling, he stared down at her with impassive metal features.

"In approximately twenty-three point seven minutes, you are due at your species learning center," Prowl stated while gracefully stepping out of the small human sized kitchen. Straightening up until he was at full height, he raised one curious optic ridge at the wide eyed terror that the organic was regarding him with. _How odd_, he silently reflected as she cautiously edged around him. "If you would prefer to journey on foot," he continued out loud. "I would suggest that we leave within the next five minutes." For one heart pounding moment, he remained there. Then, with long graceful soundless strides, he walked away.

"Gee," Bulkhead mumbled sheepishly. "You mean you didn't notice Prowl was in there with you? I thought he was being pretty obvious..." He trailed off, reflecting on his abnormally large size and wishing he was small enough to visit the organics like that. It looked like a lot more fun than staying out here all the time, and friendlier besides. Even their rooms were too small for him, the warehouse doors several feet too narrow for his hulking frame. An idea occurred to him that made him pause. Maybe all of him couldn't fit down there, but some of him could!

Ashen faced, the brunet put a hand over her pounding heart in lingering panic. Then she remembered to breath. Staggering against the scarred Formica counter-top the teenager barely kept from sloshing her coffee as she dragged in lungful after lungful of stale air. 'Would it kill the guy to not do that for once,' she wondered in the beginning stages of annoyance. 'Yeesh! Put a bell around his neck! At least, then I'd have some warning right before he swoops in out of no-where!' Not that she'd ever say something like that to a giant killer robot with an endless supply of throwing stars. She wasn't that crazy! Turning, she jumped back in alarm. Right there, bigger than life, was a face that looked like it was composed entirely out of melted trash can lids. "Aaah!" Surprised blue flashlight eyes squinted out at her from the depths of that lumpy metal face. It took her a moment to recognize the alien she'd been talking to only moments before the Psycho had arrived. "I... I mean, Hi! Er, could yah maybe not stand so close, big guy?"

"Oops, sorry," Bulkhead rumbled sheepishly. With a factory's worth of groaning metal parts, the gigantic alien backed away... exactly one centimeter. Tiny little blue flashlight optics glowed with eager sincerity at her as he inquired, "How's this?"

"Weeelll," the brunet began hesitantly. Clutching her coffee cup, Cassidy stared back in consternation. Not a trace of sarcasm marred his words, his little beady eyes didn't look away or blink, and his mashed together features didn't shift even slightly. She couldn't believe it! He was actually serious? As the silence stretched on, massive dented face-plates sagged into the worlds biggest unhappy pout. Doing her best to turn a cringe into a earnest looking smile, she hurriedly reassured, "That's fine, Hon."

"Cool," Bulkhead enthused, his lumpy face abruptly shifting into a happy grin. Curious, he watched the teenager turn around. Pouring the last of the coffee in her mug, she swallowed the dregs with a grimace. Then she busied herself with cleaning her cup. After that was the percolator, scrubbed meticulously. It was weird how she kept giving him those little flinching glances over her shoulder. Maybe she was still nervous around his kind? This, and other thoughts dominated his processor as he watched her carefully put all these items away in a tiny cupboard near the equally miniscule sink in the Human sized kitchen. Spinning around, she favored him with another one of those teeth baring smiles.

"Um, Bulk's," Cass began, edging slightly away. Another step brought her that much closer to the exit. Squinting blue robotic eyes glowed back at her innocently. Smiling wider, she shuffled still further. The giant robot head taking up most of the kitchenette blinked back at her. "Yeah... well, gotta go now! Bye!" With that, she was running. A loud multifaceted groan of machine parts heralded the fact that the robot was now beginning to stand up, and one glance confirmed it. Thank God he hadn't decided to follow her! Instead, he stood there watching her run off... And why was she feeling like she'd just kicked a puppy? Granted, it was a rather large puppy with pincher claw hands the size of grand-pianos. Her running steps slowed to a jog... then ground down to a fast walk... and finally, she stopped. Hesitantly, she glanced over her shoulder. There Bulkhead stood, a massive pile of machine parts and disorganized metal lumps with his head almost brushing the warehouse ceiling, looking like he was almost about to cry. Feeling incredibly weird, she at last shouted out, "What's wrong?"

"You don't like me," Bulkhead rumbled back. Massive lumpy shoulders drooped and small blue optics gazed forlornly at the concrete ground. A gusting sigh whooshed out of his vents in unhappy resignation.

"I like you just fine," she called back across the warehouse sized living room. Slowly, Bulkhead's overly large lumpy head rose and beady little optics looked at her in dawning hope. Telling herself she was insane for encouraging him, she nonetheless continued, "Yah seem like a great guy. It's just that yah scare me, that's all!"

Massive metal features broke apart in a lumpy garbage can smile. "Oh," Bulkhead rumbled, now a lot more cheerful. Machine parts groaned as he nodded rapidly. "I get it! I'll try not to be so scary! Alright?"

"Yeah, thanks Hon," Cass shouted back. "I appreciate it. So... I've really got to go to school now. Um, see yah?" Nervously, she waved, only to watch in amazement as her gesture was copied by an armor clad arm the size of a jet engine! She stared at that giant sized appendage as it rose into the air with a whoosh...and accidentally scraped a sizable gash in the concrete lined ceiling. Chunks of rock rained down on his head. He jumped in surprise, gouging the floor with his gigantic heavy feet. Sheepish embarrassment flashed across his scarred features. Wincing, she waved again before ducking down the corridor. A smile quirking up at his odd promise and she wondered how he planned to not be scary. One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to wake up every morning with that splotchy painting staring down at her. Making plans to 'accidentally' light it on fire, she continued on her way. 'Hey,' she reflected. 'If anybody would believe a story like that, it would be these crazy aliens... and it would spare the big guys feelings. Then the only thing I'd have to do is convince old Bulks not to make a replacement painting... and oh, no!'

Frozen, Cassidy stared. Prowl stood blocking the exit with an unforgiving look on his emotionless metal features. Trapped in one narrow, needle clawed hand... was her duffel-bag. Brown eyes gazed up at a mech who was clearly not in a sharing mood. Rapidly, her mind ticked over her options. It belatedly occurred to her that he must have picked it up off the kitchen floor, where she'd dropped it. She'd been planning on scooping up her belongings and taking off before the psycho realized she was gone. Unfortunately, the fact that it was now being held hostage blew that idea out of the water.

For a long moment, silence was their only company. The stare-down continued. Organic brown eyes gazed into eternally unblinking robotic blue optics. Every second, Cass knew, was another precious unit of time she was wasting. Already, she had to reject a more scenic shortcut in favor of the more dangerous route through three back alleys. A gusted sigh filled the air, accompanied by a billow of steam from Prowl's vents. Still, she contemplated her options. At last, Cassidy gave up. Letting out a defeated groan, she wordlessly trudged toward the open ramp doors... And at the last second, leaped for her duffel-bag. He watched in surprise as the brunet used her own added body weight to drag her duffel-bag down over his claws, neatly slicing through the strap. Hitting the ground, she wasted no time high-tailing it out of the base... unfortunately with a killer robot hot on her heals. It was going to be nearly impossible to buy school supplies with the psycho hot on her heals, but she was going to try. As she veered into an alley, she silently wondered, 'What are normal people doing right now?'

_Meanwhile..._

Shady Groves Retirement Community was a peaceful dwelling for Detroit's 'over-the-hill-crowd.' It had tasteful accommodations, it's own enclosed park, and three square meals a day. Unfortunately, due to a sweetheart land-grant awarded to the building association, it was the most chaotic location in the city. The reason for this was simple. It had been installed right across the street from the local high-school. Every weekday morning teenagers in hot-rods and frantic mothers in mini-vans would get into near death clashes with their city's elderly population. Old folks would be heading off in their golf-carts to go shopping, attend weekday mass, or play bingo. Needless to say, the traffic was a nightmare... Which suited Justin just fine. He was an old man, one of the oldest in the community, but he could still drop one of those young punks without breaking a sweat. Anything else would just make him bored. Squinting, he peered into the souped up engine bay of his glossy black golf-cart. His ride was the baddest in the community, with spiked wheel spokes, racing stripes, and an illegally installed turbo-booster. All the chicks loved it, and he always had a date for dance night. A far cry from the motorcycle he'd had in his youth, it was still the best he could do!

Jason, his roommate and fellow 'Roadie,' squinted up the sidewalk nearsightedly, a scowl marring his wrinkled features. Reaching down, he picked up his glasses. More suited to a test pilot or an explosives tech, they were garish affairs, but they got the job done. As the youngest (only ninety-two), he stood as lookout for the rest of the posse. They had a mission to accomplish in the name of coolness. Just as he thought the little cowards weren't planning on attending class today, he saw them! Their mortal enemies were teenagers, part of the modern punk crowd. Some wore reflective visors, others wore metallic jumpsuits and tall boots. All carried futuristic skateboards augmented with the latest in self-powered, battery operated speed. A bunch of lazy pansies, in his opinion, and he hadn't hesitated to tell them exactly that! This had led to trash-talking on both sides, then vandalism, and finally all out war! Yet another scowl sank into his weathered features as he they finally came into focus. Turning his head toward the old man working on his golf-cart, he croaked, "Here they come."

Instantly, Justin stiffened at his roommate's pronouncement. He hadn't forgotten the time one of those scrawny little bastards had egged his windshield. It was payback time. Putting down his tools, he stuck one hand into his mouth. With a loud squelching noise, his false teeth popped out. His other hand was already fumbling in a nearby water glass for their replacements. They were a special pair, more suited to intimidation rather than any other use (considering every tooth was sharpened to a fine point.) Perfect for what he had in mind. Sliding them into his mouth, he cracked his neck to loosen up, twisted his baseball cap around, and growled, "Bring it on!" Elsewhere, other seniors were taking notice. Wrinkled grandmothers with long bleached blond locks and baby pink lipstick, as well as aged punk-rockers with spiked collars and tattoos that had long since faded to incomprehensible permanent bruises, looked up from their favorite reality shows. A man with a defibrillator hobbled out into the open, his worn out high-top basketball shoes shuffling hesitantly along the sidewalk. All had their faded eyes fixed on the group of teenagers wandering past.

Snarls fixed on their aged features and improvised weapons at the ready, they squared off against the younger generation. The techno-jocks were no slouches in the intimidation department, either. Electric clubs powering up, stun sticks, and loud obnoxious music began to play as the high-school students eagerly prepared for battle. Insults flew back and forth, fists were waved menacingly, and onlookers shouted encouragement. Then the first wrinkled fist was swung... and missed by a mile. It might have been a good idea to put his glasses on before this started. Not that he would! Crystal, Kristal, and Khristell were watching! Jason didn't want to look like a dork! He could just barely see them, out sunning themselves in their pink ribbon wheelchairs, with their dyed blond hair, Bengay medicine, and sparkle makeup. Khristell was the hottest (considering she still had most of her teeth), so there was no way he was loosing the fight to a bunch of wet behind the ears techno-brats! "Hah," he exclaimed, stomping on his opponent's moon boot. "Take that! Woah..." As the techno-jock swung a fist at his wrinkled jaw, he ducked... and began to fall. Teetering precariously, he only barely regained his feet by staggering out into the street. This also had the unfortunate result of holding up traffic. Others, senior and student alike, followed. All around them, cars stopped, horns blared, and the fighting went on.

Swindle cruised to a halt amid a clamor of honking horns, childish insults, and clumsy fisticuffs. He vented a sigh. This was the fifteenth stop he'd had to make, yet! Unimpressed, the 'Con studied the contest of senior citizen versus senior student with testy boredom. An aged centenarian threw a fist, which was swiftly dodged. Then a new sound invaded his audios, a familiar sound, a wailing sound. Instinctively hunkering down on his tires, he warily looked back, before relaxing. _Oh good, they're not 'Bots_, he reflected in almost giddy relief. As he expected, three uniformed police officers rushed past shouting orders. And the shouting continued. One of them was pulling out a cell-phone asking for backup, which heralded the Cybernetic Operative Police (COP drones for short.) Now he was checking his chronometer.

"Grampa Justin," a tall skinny freshman in a metallic red mini-dress yelled from a nearby sidewalk. "Stop getting arrested so much! It's embarrassing!" Mortified, she watched her oldest relative get disarmed and handcuffed over the back of a police car.

"Oh, relax, kiddo," the older man grunted. "And call your mother to come pick me up from the police department!" Justin grimaced, and almost cut his tongue on his sharpened dentures. 'Dang,' he groused as cold air hit the back of his suddenly bare neck. 'They confiscated my dog-collar again!' Glumly, he shuffled his way into the back of the police car. He would not be sharing space with one of the teenage techno-jocks. The cops had learned about what a bad idea that was the last time this had happened.

An unhappy witness to all these events, Swindle was less than sympathetic. Silently, he wondered, _Why, don't they just shoot the whole lot? That's what I would do! Or, better yet, just carpet bomb the elderly storage facility! Then the traffic jams would be a thing of the past and... oooh, frag..." _With wide optics, he watched the spindle-legged form of Prowl as he walked with wide, loping steps over car-roofs and combatants alike. This was alarming enough. What made it downright frightening was the fact that he had a Human literally caught on his talons. Horns ceased and organics stared in horrified surprise. Even the cop drones fell silent. Everyone, right down to the smallest bird watched the pair pass by.

"Prowl, oomph," Cassidy grunted as she was none-too-gently bounced. "Put me down, yah jerk! I told yah I needed to pick up some supplies along the way!" Struggling and cursing up a storm, Cassidy did her level best to unhook her jacket from the six inch talon it was impaled on. This task was made infinitely more difficult, considering she was twenty-one feet above the ground and clinging tenaciously to an overstuffed duffel-bag with one hand. She wanted down! "Stupid, sadistic...I wasn't going to be late!"

"Your detour would have made you three point six seconds late," Prowl informed her, taking another stork-like stride. "And since you still foolishly refuse to ride my alt-mode, this method of travel remains as the only logical alternative."

"It would not, yah hulking... overgrown...," she trailed off, noticing something unusual. They were in the middle of the busiest intersection near her school, and her voice had an echo! Wide-eyed, she looked around and blushed. Hundreds of people stared up at her in horrified amazement. Cops, old folks, and most of her fellow classmates openly gawked up at her from one end of the block to the other, and they could all see her belly button! 'Oh, no,' the brunet moaned silently to herself. 'Somebody shoot me!' Still as red as a cherry tomato, Cassidy did her level best to hide her face as Prowl carried her over the wall of the high-school and out of sight.

Hunkered down on his tires, the Decepticon tried to look innocuous. All thoughts, malicious or otherwise, fled in the face of this latest development. Here was honest, eyewitness proof of the way the Autobots were treating their organics... _Well, this organic, at least_, he amended, sheepishly. _There have been a number of times I've wanted to that or worse to her. No wonder her clothes always look like they've gone through a trash compactor! The sooner I get her out of there, the better!_ After that, the police had no problem restoring peace. They wouldn't even have to drag Old Justin into a jail cell today! Cruising through what used to be a 'battle-field,' the huckster gratefully claimed the last available parking space. Now it was time to put his plan into motion!

"Ah, Chester," Mr. Figueroa exclaimed in jovial tones as he saw his new problem student come through the door. "You're just in time to learn about the new seating arrangement." He had been informed that, as much as he hated him, Chester J. Ivory was staying in his class. Fine. The war veteran had his own methods for dealing with this type of student. With an evil glint in his eyes, he slapped the surface of one of the few empty desks. "This is your new location... where I can keep an eye on you."

Considering the desk in question, Swindle raised a holographic eyebrow. It was fairly typical of it's breed, with a pressed wood writing surface, hollow metal frame, and an attached plastic seat. He doubted it was a coincidence that it was located at the very front of the classroom. In fact, it was what used to be Cassidy's spot. Smiling sweetly, he obediently slid into the unoccupied chair. His processor, though, was hard at work researching a very worrisome problem. _Where is that Human_, he wondered testily. _I spent the entire passing period trying to find her, and she's no-where in sight! At this rate, I won't be able to hire her in time for the deadline!_ It was while he sat there, pouting over a seemingly endless string of failures that a new thought occurred to him that was as annoying as it was vexing. Accessing the high-school's mainframe and hacking through every firewall he came across, the 'Con-mech groused, out loud, "That femme had better not have transferred to another class."

A loud thud startled him out of his mental rant against organics and their annoying idiosyncrasies. Turning around, he searched for the source of the disturbance. Another thud sounded. Now some of the organics were twisting around in their chairs with curiosity. At last, with a final shudder, the classroom door swung open to admit one very frazzled Human. Huffing out a relieved sigh (because, really, it was such a hassle to have to reschedule his classes to coincide with hers), the huckster closed his internet window. He settled down to watch. Cassidy strained and groaned, dragging a bulging, absolutely stuffed-to-the-brim, heavy duffel-bag. The door tried to swing closed again, slamming into her back and making her yelp in pain. Still, she was determined. She collapsed in heartfelt exhaustion over her burden just as the final bell rang. Then she looked up.

Dark gold organic eyes locked on Swindle's avatar and widened. For a long moment, silence filled the room. Then, groaning pitifully, the teenager dropped her head. "Oh, no," she moaned out loud. "Yah weren't a nightmare." A smattering of laughter filled the room, while the huckster's features fell into a hurt looking pout.

Mr. Figueroa rolled his eyes. "Yes, Cassidy," he blandly drawled. "We are all aware of Mr. Ivory's more 'charming' qualities, as well as the fact that academia is a heavy burden to bear. Now please take your seat." Turning, he began writing the day's lesson plan on the white board in lurid red ink, well aware of the problems the smallest teenager was having at dragging her duffel-bag up the aisle. The constant noise of suffering and straining came to an abrupt and very telling stop. Glancing over his shoulder, the history teacher witnessed the sight of a flabbergasted brunet confronting a seated zoot-suiter. He smirked. "Oh, incidentally," the older man added. "You'll be saddened to know that someone has surpassed you in trouble-making qualities and you now sit one chair back. Try not to let it bruise your ego."

From that point onward, history class was... interesting. After enduring a glare-down from Mr. Figeuroa that made Swindle feel as if he was being examined for future dissection, he was firmly ignored. The huckster frowned in thought. Apparently, this seat was reserved for trouble-makers of some kind... but what had he done wrong? Sure, a few of his devices had malfunctioned, but that was hardly the mark of a problem student! Instead, he focused on being beyond innocent to try to reduce attention. Holographic hands folded neatly in front of him, and an ever present smile on his face, the 'Con acted like a perfect angel! He even answered a few of the inane trivia questions that the teacher posed to the class! It only seemed to make things worse. Throughout the lesson, he was favored with increasingly suspicious glares, ponderous pacing, and scholarly mockery. _Oh, well_, Swindle at last mused, climbing out of his chair at the sound of the final bell. _Can't win them all... _Cassidy, meanwhile, had been no slouch, either. After handing in a report two inches thick as extra-credit for her missed classes, she had shuffled around the burdens in her duffel-bag. Now, with a bundle of freshly washed Phys. Ed. clothes under one arm and her duffel-bag slung over one shoulder, she raced out the door. Seeing this, a smile grew on the 'Con's pixilated features. _Then again_,_ he's not the one I'm hiring!_

Climbing to his holographic feet, the Decepticon darted after her. And yet... Somehow, she was still able to sneak past him. Physical Education class was the slowest hour of his life. She even managed to avoid him when they were on the same team! Now, it was passing period, and he was determined not to lose her again. Grumbling to himself, he scanned his surroundings again. How could one primitive organic elude his sensors so many times? As another low level scan came up empty, he grumbled, "One of those fragging Autobots probably injected her with something that's fouling up my systems..." He sighed. With glum determination, he hurried to the next sector and began another scan. This was the fourth one he'd had to perform. Dark purple holographic eyes flickered around, hoping to catch sight of one particular fleshy out of a herd of hundreds. Pixilated shoulders slumped in dejection as his readings came back with a sea of zeros. Just slagging great, he pouted to himself. _Here I am, with the best scheme, yet! With my luck she's probably ditched school and is halfway to... _ His sight map abruptly let off a positive ping and he spun around in abrupt glee. _There!_

A sly smile grew across dusky holographic features as he observed his target from the safety of the shadows. It had taken an extreme effort, studying and analyzing all his past mistakes, but he felt he had finally found the solution. It had happened while he was busy watching some old Human holo-vids about high-school life he'd pirated off the Internet. While the inane conversation played and the plot-line bored him to tears, he occupied himself with the task of unpacking a fresh shipment of Triple Impact Percussion Grenades (with a blast zone guaranteed to be big enough to obliterate a small moon, or your money back!). That's when he'd seen it, the solution to all his problems! 

Making sure his orange zoot-suit practically glowed, Swindle strolled out into the open. "Hey, Cassidy," he exclaimed, all smiles. The huckster counted it as a credit to his fabulous programming skills that she seemed unable to take her eyes off of him. She blinked once, twice, and then shuddered and looked away. His clothes were obviously bright enough to attract even the most recalcitrant Human femme. Simultaneously, Half a dozen jocks, geeks, rappers, and goths who also happened to be named Cassidy also looked up. Some smiled in anticipation of another absolutely brilliant prank in the making. Others hurried off, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. All could agree on one thing: that was the ugliest zoot-suit they had ever seen in their lives! Unaware of the scene he was causing, the 'Con zeroed in on the brunet who was currently trying to subtly escape down the hall. He merely slid smoothly in front of her with a smile.

Cassidy stiffened and slowly looked up to regard the hologram standing in front of her. Brown eyes considered him from his glossy helmet of pixilated black hair, down his partially modified checkered zoot-suit (he'd decided to keep it orange but add metallic green suspenders), and finally ending on his equally shiny heels. She looked back up at his forever cheerful features. "Oh, no," she mumbled after a moment. "You aren't a mirage."

"Afraid not, sweetheart," Swindle beamed. "So, what's on the agenda today?"

"Nothing involving you," the brunet retorted. With a sense of finality, she turned and left. 'Rats,' she sighed to herself. 'And I'd really hoped he'd have to throw that zoot-suit away after yesterday's food-fight. Oh, well. There's always today.' Sure, enough, he was by her side faster than she could say "restraining order."

"So, Cass," he casually began, before giving her a slyly innocent expression. "Can I carry your books for you?" The Decepticon waited in anticipation of his target's reaction. And, okay, so she wasn't carrying books exactly... but that didn't matter! All the archives he'd researched insisted that a Human femme was incapable of higher thought the instant this phrase was spoken. With the mating protocol firmly in charge, she would follow the mech anywhere! In fact... every observation he'd made indicated that the female Human tended to giggle, hug, or even kiss the male in question. Swindle internally grimaced. He sincerely hoped she didn't do that last one. Talk about disgusting! In retrospect, he should have known she would do something entirely different.

"Can you.. what?" Faltering for half a step, Cass glanced to the left. Yup, one zoot-suit wearing teenager marched proudly by her side, a predatory smile of mischief on his dusky face. Rolling her brown eyes skyward, she quickened her pace. She wouldn't trust a credit loan with this guy let alone her duffel bag! Naturally, he easily kept up. Well, since he was still here... Wrinkling her nose, she wondered in honest curiosity, "Why?"

"Well, I mean... that is to say," Swindle trailed off, honestly at a loss for words. Out of all the explanations he'd been able to find to this weird 'Book Carrying' phenomenon, that had been the one question that he hadn't been able to answer. The female human seemed to have no problem carrying her own belongings, so why give the burden to another? There was the theory that the male was enslaved in some way... but then, why would he feel the need to seek out and ask for them? In normal master-slave relations, there would generally be a lot more ordering going on. So, slavery wasn't very likely. That left his final theory: the phrase was some kind of mating signal. Yet, as he stared back into suspicious dark gold organic eyes, he began to have his first doubts. "Because... it's a nice thing to do?"

"Wow," Cassidy chirped, suddenly all smiles. Shifting her duffel-bag to her other shoulder, she continued, "That's amazingly kind and thoughtful of you..."

As Swindle gazed into that abruptly adoring gaze, his hopes began to soar. _Finally_, he reflected. _A ploy that works! All I have to do is grab her stupid textbooks and she'll follow me anywhere! Then the only thing I have to worry about is sneaking her out from under that glitched up Autobot's sensor net, and then I'll..._ He was jarred out of his thoughts as Cassidy finished her sentence.

"The answer, is no," she declared, her cheerful features abruptly descending into a corrosive frown. Turning her back on him, she trudged toward the opposite end of the corridor. There was a chance that Weasel might not be trapped in his own locker... a slim chance. Grrrr... she was almost out of time! Unfortunately, it would take more than a death glare to lose the zoot-suiter who was still hot on her trail... or in front of her! She barely stopped up short before she could collide with him. How did he move so freakishly fast?

"I'm serious," he protested, looking for all the world as if he'd been mortally wounded. Then it was back to smiles and false promises. Smoothly sliding up close, Chester adjusted his red flame job tie before favoring her with a sincere look. "Can't a guy carry a doll's books for her? Just open the bag and..."

"Not a chance," Cassidy interrupted with a sense of finality. Smoothly sidestepping the grabby hands that were making a bee-line for her duffel-bag (and her butt just beyond that), she changed direction. Where was Weasel? The sooner she unloaded his stupid cat-burglar outfit, the better. There was no way she was letting Chester get his slimy paws all over her stuff! What few books she had left were safely tucked away under the rest of her survival gear. She'd have to unload everything to get to them, and... No... just, no. Predictably, the zoot-suiter was in her way, again. As he opened his mouth, to yet again, spout off another ridiculous lie, she grimaced. Then a sudden idea came to her. Smiling angelically, she gently put one finger over his lips. "Chester, that's awfully sweet," she cooed, internally laughing at his poleaxed expression. "But, really, I can handle it."

Frozen, his eyebrows on the rise, the hologram stared at the human as she patted his pixilated face. With graceful steps she slipped around him and disappeared around the corner. _What the frag_, he wondered, honestly confused. Resistance? He'd been expecting that. Her mating protocols finally activating? Well, that's what he'd been hoping for! But kindness? Caring? Then the condescension in her words registered, and an incensed purple glow burned to life in his dark eyes. _Hey, wait a click! Two can play at that game!_ He began accessing his sight map to head her off. "Sweetheart," he declared as he materialized, stepping out from behind a slight indentation in the brick wall ahead of her. "If you think I can't handle a little duffel-bag, you're sadly mistaken." She jumped, looking in his direction with honest shock on her fleshling features. "Or, if the idea of loaning it out is so unappealing, just give me the books." Swindle casually shrugged before leaning in closer. Dark glasses slipped down his narrow holographic nose as he favored her with a boyish smile.

"W-well, uh," Cass stuttered as she gazed into a pair of dark chocolate eyes. For a few minutes, she swore they glowed purple! But that was ridiculous, right? It had to have been the reflection off of his sunglasses... That was when she realized, not only was he standing close enough for them to bop heads, but he was taking full advantage of the moment to look down her cleavage! Snorting in derision, she turned and 'accidentally' rammed him in the gut with her stuffed-to-the-brim duffel-bag. Score one for military hardware! Unfortunately, he recovered. As patent leather shoes, yet again tap danced by her side, she sighed. "Look, Hon, I realize yah probably have some kind of elaborate prank planned out with me as the star attraction... but I'm really not in the mood."

"Now, there you go again," he declared, affecting an insulted expression. "Just because I pulled a few harmless jokes yesterday, you think I'm always doing it! Well, I've got news for you! I've turned over a new leaf!"

"And you've chosen to prove your sudden benevolent qualities with my stuff?" One of her eyebrows rose and he favored her with his best angelic smile in return. Oh, yeah. He was planning something. The zoot-suiter probably had all kinds of paint bombs, whoopee cushions, thumb tacks, and everything in between, filling the pockets in his oversized coat. In fact... that might explain why his clothes always looked like a rainbow threw up on him. Cass favored him with an unimpressed look and rolled her eyes. Turning, she resumed her journey. It was sort of hard to tell without a watch (her last one broke a month ago), but she thought she had just barely enough time to liberate Weasel from his locker and escape to Ms. Shanahan's biology class. She never thought she'd see the day when science class counted as a safe haven! She was brought up short with a squawk as Something jerked her off balance, and she twisted around. "What the...?! Chester," she growled, her eyes narrowing on the guy stupid enough to try to steal her duffel-bag.

"Seriously, Cass," Swindle wheedled. "Just let me carry your books! I'm sure you could use the help!"

"I could use something, alright," Cassidy growled as she tried to yank her belongings back. 'Like ten minutes alone with him and no witnesses,' she silently mused, pulling harder. The temptation to break his jaw was nearly too much to endure. Since that sort of activity was frowned on, she opted for negotiating. "Chester, seriously, it's too much of a hassle to get them out! They're all the way at the bottom..."

"Nonsense," Swindle chided. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Now, let me just..." He began to reach for the main pocket of the duffel-bag, only to unexpectedly have it yanked out of his holoform's hands.

"NO WAY," Cassidy yelped, jumping back. At the zoot-suiter's dubious expression, she did her best to appear nonchalant. "What I mean is that, it's just a really bad idea. I tend to stuff all of my backpacks to maximum capacity, and this duffel-bag...?" She shuddered theatrically. "The slightest wrong move will make everything fly out! Seriously, it will look like a geyser went off!"

"Riiight," Swindle drawled, his voice heavily sarcastic. Now, it was his turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. He couldn't risk a surface scan here, not with an Autobot just within shouting distance, but he did have visual sensors. Shortness of breath, a glance away here, a glance away there... She was lying. His pixilated features forming an easy-going look of condescension, he replied, "Really? You know, I'm awfully good at rummaging. Why don't you let me see if I can't get those books."

"I'll bet you are," Cassidy agreed, barely twisting out of the way as he made another swipe for it. "But the point is, the answer's still no! Don't yah have some hapless Freshman to torment?"

"Would I do that?" At her dubious expression, he rolled his holographic eyes. "Seriously, Sweetheart, I'm not that kind of monster," he protested giving her a sincere look. Then he pounced for the bag. Cassidy barely dodged him in time. For a long moment, the pair eyed one another. _What is she hiding_, he wondered. _She couldn't have figured out who I really am... could she?_ Swindle glanced down at his holoform in self-conscious alarm. Checkered neon-orange coat sleeves greeted his visual sensors, along metallic green suspenders, a flame-job tie... Everything looked just like that styling magazine had advertized... aside from the brightened coloration of the fabric to attract Cass, of course. His disguise was obviously human!

Cass was experiencing a dilemma. On one hand, she could always just go to class... but what about Weasel? She'd really hate herself if she just left him stuck somewhere. Not for the first time, the brunet wished he hadn't shown off to their first grade class how flexible he was. Ever since then, school bullies had made it their life's work to cram him into increasingly tiny spaces. That meant that someone (usually, Griff, Harriet, Iris, or herself) had to pry him out again. Waste-paper baskets and lockers were particular favorites of the bullying crowd. Unfortunately, she now had Chester to contend with. Noticing he was beginning to edge around her, hoping to snag her duffel-bag, she mirrored his movements. Warily, the pair circled one another.

"You know, it wouldn't be any trouble on my part," he smoothly explained. "I'm actually a lot stronger than I look, and it would give you a break from having to carry that heavy satchel. So why don't you just..."

"Forget about it," Cass snapped, dodging out of the way of sneaky fingers. She let out an alarmed shout when he abruptly spun around her faster than what seemed humanly possible and captured her duffel-bag. He just hadn't been expecting to capture a human, as well. Diving into the zoot-suiter's momentary embrace, she slammed an elbow into his gut... And, man did it hurt! It felt like she'd just bounced her funny bone into a concrete wall! Wincing, she slowly looked up only to blush as she realized she was practically nose to nose with him. Then she was moving! Twisting around rapidly, she grabbed the strap of the duffel-bag and used her own momentum to try to rip it from his hands.

"W-what," Swindle exclaimed in surprise at the sudden arrival of a violently rambunctious organic. He hadn't honestly been expecting this! Sure, he had been trying to activate her mating protocols... but actual physical contact was a little out of his league! And now she was trying to steal back what he'd rightfully stolen! The nerve! Holographic features settling into a frown, he dug his fingers into the duffel-bag's flimsy canvas surface. She was tenacious, he'd give her that. Cursing and straining, she pulled for all she was worth. Worried he might accidentally crush a delicate bone or two (thus making her less useful), Swindle did his best to adjust his grip, and... A ripping noise filled the air. Instantly, both combatants fell down hard.

Papers, pencils, pens, and note-books clattered to the ground around them. The last two school textbooks she owned smacked heavily to the ground directly afterward... and like a graceful shadow of the night, Weasel's cat-burglar outfit fluttered gently after. For a long moment, silence reigned. Zoot-suiter and teenager stared at one another. In disbelief, Cassidy gazed down at a duffel-bag that was designed to withstand a battle-field. It was almost completely ripped in half. Before she could even begin to think about what to do next, a new voice intruded, one that made both combatants cringe.

"NULTE," a harsh voice squawked in outrage. The click-clack of stylish stiletto heals filled the air, followed by a waft of perfume. Vice-Principal Rowcliff soon arrived, her manicured hands on her hips. "And what, may I ask, are you two doing?"

"We were...um," Swindle began, half a dozen lines and stories already at the forefront of his processor. Anything but the truth. He couldn't even believe his own memory banks! She continued before he could get another word out.

"My office," Rowcliff snapped. "Now!"

That was how they found themselves forcibly relocated into a cramped little organic sized office. Sitting in the chair on the left side of the room, Swindle twiddled his holographic thumbs. He had heard about being sent to the principal's office... It had just never occurred to him that it might actually happen to him. The entire situation was ridiculous enough to make him laugh. Frowning, he checked his watch. Or, it would if it wasn't wasting so much time! Sigh. If Cassidy had been a good little femme and gotten captured like she was supposed to, then they wouldn't be in this mess right now. Holographic programming asserted itself, making him automatically lower his sunglasses as he turned his head to regard the only other prisoner in the room.

Curled up in her own chair with her knees propping up a notebook, was Cassidy. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, scribbling for all she was worth, she focused entirely on what she was writing. This was also what she had been doing the last time he had looked at her, and the time before that, and the time before that, and so on.

"Must be some awfully interesting material," Swindle began in friendly tones. Instead of looking up, she curled tighter into herself and scowled. He raised one eyebrow. "I already mentioned I was sorry, didn't I? You're being very unreasonable." This comment earned him a ferocious glare. Turning until her back was facing him, she resumed her own private project. The holographic huckster snorted out a laugh. She was just too cute, like a naughty sparkling that had been given a time out! If he didn't have to commute so much, he would have adopted one of them as a pet a long time ago! Deciding to leave the organic to her own devices, he paused. Actually, at this angle, with the correct magnification, he could just barely get a view of what had Cassidy so distracted. Narrowing his avatar's eyes, he zeroed in on the miniscule writing pad and carefully tried to analyze it. Noticing that he was staring at her, she glared. Sticking her tongue out at him, she then turned, making sure he couldn't see what she was working on.

Holographic midnight purple eyes rolled ceiling-ward in exasperation. Opening his mouth, he was about to comment on her incredibly childish impulses only to pause. His HUD was informing him that something new had just entered his sensor grid. He frowned in curiosity. It was an unusual energy signature, both in frequency, and power levels... In fact, it almost looked like... Cringing in abrupt understanding, the huckster shrank down in his seat and ceased any and all high powered activities. Little more than a ghostly projection, Swindle nervously anticipated the worst. Anything to avoid detection from the Autobot right outside the door!

_At that exact moment..._

_They use synthetic materials to imitate organics._ This was the first thought that went through Prowl's processor as he directed his avatar though the double doors leading into Detroit High-School's Administrative Building. Gently, so as not to crush the delicate surface, he ran a holographic gloved hand over the imitation wood counter-top. "Fascinating," he murmured.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Rowcliff intoned. She raised an eyebrow at the man who was petting the administrative desk lovingly. At her words, he straightened so abruptly, it was a wonder he didn't give himself whip-lash. Then she registered her second surprise. "You're a police officer?!"

"A police presence was requested, correct?" Now it was Prowl's turn to raise one skeptical pixilated eyebrow. Expressionlessly, he awaited an answer.

"Well... yes," she hesitantly replied. At his lack of response, the vice-principal blushed. Not for the first time, she wished Principal Asher was the one fielding these sorts of people! That was his job, after all! Taking a deep breath, she rallied onward. "W- we just didn't expect you to get here so quickly!"

"I was in the area," he intoned. Again, a silence filled the room. While the organic fidgeted, Prowl used this as an opportunity to continue to scan his surroundings. Plastic masquerading as wood lined the walls, the ceiling, and sections of the floor. There was even a plant made entirely of woven synthetic fiber! The cyber-ninja had, quite honestly, never encountered such a phenomenon. If one wished to build with organic plant structures, why use false plastic one's instead. What was the point? As the woman cleared her throat, he immediately focused on her.

"Um, Officer," she began, only to jump nervously at the abrupt focus he aimed her way. Annoyance quickly came to the surface, though and she ground out, "If you will 'kindly' come this way... We have a bit of a situation on our hands." Turning, she marched, as prim and proper as a lady drill sergeant across the room. Rowcliff didn't know whether to feel fear or relief when he obediently followed after her. "I believe you've heard of the name Nulte? Well, Cassidy is Caesar's grand-daughter." The tall, narrow police officer quirked one eyebrow, and encouraged, she continued. "We've tried to curb her natural proclivities so she can join polite society, despite the limitations of her parentage, of course. But it's difficult. Sadly, today we've discovered something that we simply can't ignore. She was discovered with this!" Taking a deep breath, she reached under the desk and pulled out a box. Hefting out the contents, she displayed it with a grim sort of satisfaction upon the desk-top. It was a long, slinky, professionally made, all black body-suit, complete with face-mask.

"Fascinating," Prowl stated, already accessing the internet. According to his research, this sort of garment was commonly used by two professions: cat-burglars, and martial artists. Curious. While he was well aware of the organic's talents with a sword, and he had witnessed several examples of her acrobatic prowess... this was a hidden level that he hadn't suspected. "And this is considered dangerous?"

"Yes," Vice-Principal Rowcliff exclaimed, at her wits end. "Surely, you must admit that it's obvious she was planning on robbing some poor soul! I mean, why else would she have it?"

"Good question," Prowl approved, shortly. "Did she give a reason as to why she had it?"

"Oh, yes," the vice-principal replied, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Some ridiculous story about the garment being torn. Claimed she owed the original owner a favor and offered to mend it for him. Of course, she wouldn't give us a name..."

"Indeed," the hologram intoned, conducting detailed scans. It was really a marvel in organic ingenuity. Prowl could detect numerous nearly microscopic sensors woven into the fabric, regulating body temperature and minimizing contact with the outside world. He could also detect a repaired tear in the fabric along one shoulder... And while the wiring was active everywhere else, it was deactivated for roughly a five inch radius all around the repaired area. "This garment does not belong to Cassidy Nulte."

"It doesn't?" Vice-Principal Rowcliff stared, goggle eyed at the police-man. Then she regained her wits. Narrow eyed, and more than a little miffed, she inquired, "And why would you say that?"

"This garment is designed specifically for a male," Prowl intoned. "Not a female." He gestured at key locations along the skin-tight ensemble. "It also has suffered recent damage here." Pointing, he ran his holographic hand along a barely visible line just under the shoulder guard.

"You aren't suggesting," Vice-Principal Rowcliff began, only to trail off as Prowl raise one eyebrow, this time in a way that seemed mocking. "Alright," she admitted, with a sigh as she walked around the desk. Now, face to face with him, she crossed her arms testily. "So, let's go with the theory that she's being honest! Don't you think it's the slightest bit suspicious that she refuses to give the name of the original owner?"

"Madam," Prowl intoned. "While I agree it would be within her best interests to disclose a name, would it be beneficial for her associate? It is not illegal to own such a garment, yet she is being detained. Would he look forward to similar treatment?" As he spoke, a movement in the ceiling gradually became apparent. Namely, the ventilation grid being removed. He raised one eyebrow as a long, thin, almost transparent drop-line came down directly over the all black costume.

"The very fact that she is refusing to cooperate denotes guilt," Vice-principal Rowcliff protested. "You can't mean to tell me that Cassidy associates with martial-arts masters? Her grandfather was a cyber-criminal!" Now the garment had been hooked. With silent majesty, it rose into the air directly behind her head, drawn ever closer to the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

"Yet," Prowl countered calmly, "My files show that Cassidy Jane Nulte's only fault with the system are occasional citations in fighting, usually against parties much larger or numerous than herself. If I might add, in all cases, she was found to not be the instigator and suffered little to no damage?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Rowcliff at last exclaimed. Gesturing behind her, she continued, "This costume..."

"What costume?" Prowl watched the organic look back in abrupt surprise, only to look around wildly. As he had just implied, the all black, skin-tight garment was no longer around. Up above, the last length of black cloth disappeared into the ceiling. The grid was replaced just as she looked up. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to an organic's senses. Continuing to monitor the nearly silent movements of the organic up above, he intoned, "If you are quite through wasting my time, I have my duties to attend to. Good day." Ignoring her shell-shocked expression, he turned and stalked out the door. By his chronometer, he only had enough energy to maintain his holoform a grand total of twenty more minutes. All in all, a truly enlightening experience.

_While simultaneously..._

_I never realized how fragging short she is... _ This was the thought that drifted through Swindle's processor right around the second half hour of his incarceration. The rest of his mind was consumed with battle-strategies, escape plans, and half a dozen negotiating tactics for emergencies. He sank still further out of sight in his chair. Of course, he had tried to come close to matching Cassidy's physical height. All the research he had done had indicated that this was the ideal method of choosing a mate. It had just never occurred to him that she might be undersized, even by her own kinds standards. Slumped down in his chair as far as he would go, his holographic heals only barely skidded along the floor. Slanting a sideways glance at his unexpected fellow cell-mate, he mused, _Maybe I should just admit defeat and follow her lead? She definitely looks more comfortable. _

Curled up cozily in her own cushy seat of punishment, was Cassidy. She still refused to talk to him. Instead, lost in her own little world, she furiously scribbled. _Perhaps she's writing an affidavit_, the 'Con reflected. _In all of the fleshing records on high-schools I've researched, being sent to the principal's office is the absolute worst thing that could happen! Yet, now...?_ Swindle squirmed on his holographic aft, attempting to blend in with the scenery. _Well... as jail cells go, this is pretty pathetic. There are no locked doors, no guards, not even any bindings! Do they expect prisoners to stay here out of politeness?_ The huckster's HUD pinged a warning, indicating that a certain ninja was drifting closer. His core programming registered his increasing nervousness and reacted in kind, causing his holoform to involuntarily swallow and a mild sweat to appear on his skin. Then, just when he thought all his plans had hit the ultimate road block... Prowl vanished.

Stunned, Swindle cautiously searched his sight map. He didn't dare initiate a scan. Such an energy signature could easily be recognized by a drone, let alone a fully functioning mech, and the Decepticon didn't feel like advertizing his presence that openly. Still... Nothing was there. Tense, he waited, ever watchful for the slightest ping. A loud organic snort from the other side of the room made him almost jump out of his metaphorical skin. Twisting around, he stared accusingly at the only other occupant of the tiny organic office. Cassidy wasn't looking at him, continuing to work on her little paper note-book. That didn't stop an amused smile from making a return appearance on her dusky features. At his stare, she finally looked at him. "So," she began. "Your first time, huh?"

Relaxing as his HUD finally managed to locate the missing ninja (twenty-five yards away and getting farther), he smiled back. "Yeah," he casually tossed back, for once, being perfectly honest. "You?"

"Not since kindergarten," she replied with a certain note of pride in her voice. "Thanks to you, my track record's ruined."

"Uh-huh, I see," Swindle noted, nodding. _At least she's no longer fragged off with me_, he silently reflected. Then he noticed the note-book she'd been working so diligently on. It was a picture of him... getting launched out of a catapult into a brick wall. Looking back up at her fleshling features, it was to note that her pleasant smile held a certain vindictive edge. _Okay, so, maybe she's still a little upset. _Hoping to smooth out pinched wiring, he added, "Why do I get the feeling that your clean record had less to do with being a 'good girl,' and more to do with not getting caught?"

"Ask me no questions, Hon," Cassidy replied, her voice at once mocking and serious. With guarded eyes and a sly smile of her own, she studied him from across the room.

Since her words sounded almost like a quote, Swindle decided to entertain himself by looking it up on the Internet. _Oh... so that's what she means_, he mused. _Very cute... I just might modify that for my own use. So, she was inadvertently telling me she doesn't trust me. Well, that was no secret!_ _ She's one tough cookie, I'll give her that much credit. And since she's in such a sharing mood... _ "By the way," he began conversationally. "How long do you think we'll be in here?"

"No idea, really," Cassidy breezily replied, casting her eyes toward the ceiling. "An hour, maybe two... Or they could decide to keep us in her longer. Just lock the doors and leave, occasionally giving us bread and water when the mood hits them. You know, the usual."

"What?" He stared at her goggle eyed with his holographic mouth hanging open, hardly daring to believe his audios. The idea of being kept there that long...? Then he caught the slightest twitching smirk on her features and scowled. Leaning back and crossing his arms, he grumbled, "It isn't nice to play with the out-of-towner, sweetheart."

"And yet it's so much fun," she enthused, smiling wickedly back. At his lack of response, though, Cassidy sighed. Lazily, she slumped back into her chair. As Chester continued his childish pouting, however, the brunet relented. "Seriously, Hon. Unless they've got something that blatantly breaks some major rules, they can't keep us here. The only recourse that they've got, is the waiting game. See if the guilt will make us crack. It's not like this is a private school!"

"Reeaally," Swindle sarcastically drawled, more than a little wary of her 'advice.' He was about to add more, but the ceiling interrupted. Already hyper-aware of his surroundings, the 'Con jumped as an air conditioning vent in the ceiling abruptly fell open and a soot covered organic flopped halfway down. Blinking, the filthy organic gazed around the room and settled on Cassidy. Then a pure white smile stretched across his features.

"Cass," their upside-down visitor whispered in enthusiastic tones. "Man, I thought I'd never find yah! You weren't in old Asher's office... And Chester? What are you doing in here?"

"Who, me? "Swindle grinned back, honestly amused by this surprising turn of events. Shrugging, he replied equally as softly, "I'm just an innocent bystander."

"Weasel," Cassidy exclaimed in quiet relief. At the zoot-suiter's words, she snorted in disbelief. As she returned her attention to Weasel all her worrying morphed into justifiable anger. Standing up, she grasped the upside-down blond's dirt smeared collar. "Where have you been?! I was waiting out there for almost twelve minutes..."

"Heeey," he protested, glaring in hurt annoyance as he slapped her hands away. "I was getting out of my own locker, thank you very much. Good thing I installed that catch so I could open it from the inside. Had to twist myself around, though, and it was murder trying to get out of that headstand..."

"Focus, Weaz, focus," the brunet interrupted what was sure to be an hour long dissertation. Cass glanced to her left to see an entirely too interested zoot-suiter, and sighed. The less Chester knew about the sneak-thief's work-around talents, the better. Who knew what the prankster would do with that kind of knowledge? Blackmail? She snorted at the idea, her mind already hard at work concocting the necessary mind games and counter-moves toward keeping the little creeps mouth shut. It was bad enough he was seeing this! Aiming a steely gaze at Weasel, she got right to the point. "Did yah get your stuff?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Weasel replied, coming back to the present. Slipping one narrow, bony arm back into the impossibly tight air-conditioning vent, he felt around. Then, with a flourish, he drew out the cat-burlar suit. He gave the limp garment an admiring glance. "Good as new... Yah can't even tell it was ripped anymore!"

"You ripped it?" Swindle eyed the rough amalgamation of synthetic fiber and organic cloth with dubious curiosity. He noted thickened shoulder-pads, thin adhesive soles on the garment's feet, and worn out areas on the knees, chest, and rear. It had seen a lot of use. There was also, he noticed, an extensive micro-filament wiring system running throughout every inch of cloth. Further analysis revealed that the primitive electronic system was primarily for heating or cooling the organic who wore it. Aside from a large dead patch right over the shoulder (he assumed it was from the tear Weasel had mentioned), it was in fairly good condition. All in all, a fairly useful outfit for all manner of occupations. His processor was already concocting how best to improve the over-all design and mass produce it for a wider clientele of organic customers.

"Yeah," Weasel sheepishly admitted. "Accidentally snagged it on a nail or something during my last run. But it's not like I can take it down to the local tailor's to have it fixed up... Besides, most guys who'll do it tend charge an arm and a leg because of the possibility of getting electrocuted on that temperature regulation fabric. That's why I'm so glad Cass is around! I can't tell yah how many times she's sewn this thing up when my butt's on the line! Though, how she manages to do it without getting zapped into oblivion is always a mystery..."

"Thanks, Hon," Cassidy hurriedly interrupted. Don't get her wrong, she loved the praise. It was just the audience that had her feeling a little leery. Weasel was too trusting, by half! Before he gave Chester any further information (like her social security number), she began working on shooing the blond out of the room. Picking up the ceiling vent grating, she marched toward the upside-down sneak-thief. Putting her hand on his upside-down head, she pushed him back toward the ceiling like a giant jack in the box. Naturally, he protested this treatment.

"Oomph?!" Batting her hands aside, he whispered in annoyed tones, "What's the deal?"

"The deal is keeping your scrawny butt out of Juvie," Cassidy hissed back, only to pause as she got a good look at her hand...the one that had been touching Weasel's scruffy hair. Covered in a mottled mixture of brown, black, and green, it looked less like a human appendage and more like some kind of creature straight out of Hollywood! Ugh! She wasn't even sure if that gunk was from the ceiling ducts!

Noticing her disgust, the sneak-thief's icy blue eyes lit up in instant amusement. "Hah," he scoffed in a fake working class British accent. "Serves you right for not acting like a lady!" Crossing his arms, he smiled proudly, not seeming at all bothered by the fact that he was filthy and upside-down. Instead, he observed his topsy-turvy surroundings with a kingly sort of superiority.

"You've got some nerve spouting off like that," Cassidy whispered in an equally British tone of voice. Walking over to her abandoned chair, she warily checked under it for old gum before rubbing her hand clean. "Accusing me of unladylike behavior, when you haven't even tipped your hat?!"

"Oh, my apologies, your lady-ship," Weasel declared, pantomiming tipping a nonexistent hat. How he managed to make such a move look natural while he was hanging upside-down was anyone's guess. "It must be because you forgot to curtsey!" 

"My pardon, sir," she mocked back as she finished cleaning her hand as best she could. The fact that she wasn't wearing a dress simply gave her an opportunity to ham it up. As gracefully as a ballroom dancer, she lifted up an invisible voluminous skirt and performed an equally elaborate curtsey. Slipping back into her normal accent, Cassidy continued, "But seriously, Weaz. Clock's ticking."

"Okay, okay," the blond grumbled softly, already going back to his American accent. Squirming, twisting, and letting out weird popping noises, he gradually slithered the rest of his body back into the ceiling. Ever helpful, Cassidy handed him the vent cover. Just as he was about to put it back, however, he popped back into view with an excited exclamation of, "Hey!" The brunet winced, and Weasel had the temerity to offer her a sheepishly apologetic grin before focusing all his attention on Chester. "Yo, Chet! Will you be coming to our lunch table today?"

"Maybe," Swindle casually answered. "If I'm in the neighborhood." All the while, he was focused on the blond with a mixture of fascination and disgust. The Decepticon's sight map stated in no uncertain terms, that a fleshling Weasel's size wouldn't be able to fit in such a narrow space, let alone be able to move. It was more than a little nauseating that this organic could. Gazing at that cheerful Human face, he could also see his shoulder blade, dislocated and jutting out at an odd angle to better fit in the opening. He didn't dare initiate a scan, not with that Autobot so close by, but he had optics. Theories sprang to the forefront of his processor on how the rest of the organic's frame looked and he internally shuddered. Ewww.

Oblivious to his appearance, the sooty second-story-man nodded back at him, before disappearing from view. Seconds later, the vent cover was back in place, Weasel was safely out of view, and Cassidy and Swindle were just sitting down. That was when a very irate Vice-Principal threw the door open and glared at them. What followed was the typical bum's rush Swindle had grown used to over the many millenia he had been in operation. They were asked, politely and very firmly, to leave. Thinly veiled threats were issued. It took every ounce of self control Swindle had not to laugh in Vice-Principal Rowcliff's face when she informed him that, "It might be in you're best interests to avoid that Nulte girl. She's a bad influence, and I'd hate to see you running with her kind of crowd." At last, the pair of them stood in relative freedom. It was thirty seconds from the lunch period, far too narrow a gap of time to enact any hiring schemes. And it was nice... relaxing even, to view the empty courtyard of the organic spawn's learning center.

"She's right, you know," Cassidy casually drawled, not bothering to look at him. Instead, she surveyed the empty school pathways, lawns, and trees with an odd sort of pride. In a weird sense, it was almost as if she owned it. At his puzzled glance, the brunet turned her head and gave him a long, heart-wrenching, concerned look. "About me, I mean," she clarified. "It would be within your best interests to stay away... Far away, like on the other side of the planet."

"Is that so," the 'Con drawled, raising one skeptical eyebrow above his ever present dark glasses. "Why do I find myself doubting your good intentions?" Seconds ticked by with neither of them moving. Slowly, the teenager's concerned expression melted into an emotionless mask. Neither of them blinked as they assessed one another. Then the passing bell rang. Like a disturbed anthill, teenagers poured out of every door going in random directions and babbling about every inane topic under the sun.

"Yah just don't know when to give up," Cassidy at last drawled, slowly shaking her head. Rather than answer him, she gave an enigmatic smile and slipped seamlessly into the throng. The brunet was gone in seconds. Try as he might, Swindle couldn't track Cassidy, not amongst so many other fleshlings of the same species. Not for the first time, the 'Con wished that all Humans didn't look alike. And despite himself, a true, genuine smile overtook his usual sale's-perfect grin. Let the challenge begin.


	9. Chapter 9

Counterfeit

Ch. 9: Philosophy Lunch

By: Mooncrossed

_Hope everyone had a wonderful Easter! Many thanks go out to RedtailHawk19 (thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying the story), to writergurl61 (Yup, Bulkhead is scarily adorable, Prowl's logic is a force to be reckoned with, and Swindle is still clueless), and to Noella50881 (Don't worry about Cass. Sooner or later, she's going to snap, then everyone is going to think she's nuts. Grin). I don't own Transformers, Guys and Dolls, Dracula, Spoon River Anthology, Harvey, The Mummy, Ghostbusters, Young Frankenstein, Beetle Juice, Shakespeare, or any of Murphy's Laws. This chapter is dedicated to God, because he really inspired me to get it written despite numerous obstacles. _

_Currently, at Detroit High-School..._

Deep purple eyes, dark enough to appear black, darted around restlessly behind stylish sunglasses. Swindle frowned. Before him, humans of every shape and description bustled about. Bleached blond cheerleader wannabe's chattered and skipped eagerly after the high-school sports stars. Small timid nerds darted fearfully past the sadistically beautiful Popular crowd. Off in the distance, techno-jocks in metallic clothes practiced their best break-dancing moves and goofed around with their computer up-links, while their opposites, the Jive crowd, lounged around in nineteen-twenties splendor. All the while, gloomy goth kids lounged in the shadows and mocked all and sundry. _If only they didn't all look so much alike_, Swindle silently groused, his pixilated eyes briefly flaring violet with annoyance. _It's like trying to distinguish one Insecticon from another in a hive! _

A grimace crossed his features. Feeling the beginning twinge of a processor-ache, he attempted to find Cassidy. Humans tended to form into micro-herds. In theory, this sort of behavior would insure that they were easier to keep track of. Right? As Swindle tried and failed to sort out a small clump of organic spawn, they drifted into another herd, blended with it, and vanished. Gritting his holoform's teeth, the huckster valiantly tried and failed to categorize them.

Giving up, the 'Con-mech leaned against the wall of the high-school library building with a put upon sigh. Imagine his surprise when he'd discovered Cassidy's little micro-herd wasn't in their usual spot! They also weren't on the football field, the cafeteria, the science wing, and the list went on. Swindle frowned moodily. _If only I could perform a proper scan_, he reflected. _I've got her DNA signature on file! Finding her would be as simple as Pi!_ Turning his head, he scowled down at a certain unassuming little two-wheeler motorcycle parked on a nearby curb. Of course, there was a very good reason why he couldn't do thing's the easy way: Prowl!

Grumbling to himself in Caxtonian over the inconvenience of contending with a guardian who had a penchant for throwing stars, he focused back on the Human herds. _She has to be around here, somewhere,_ Swindle mused in testy annoyance. _I mean, how rude can a fleshling get! Here I am, willing to go to all this effort to hire that scrawny little life-form, and she vanishes on me! Then there's the inventory I was forced to leave behind in her care. If there's so much as one blemish on either one of them... _Glumly, he reflected on the original reason why he'd not tossed Rover back into his subspace the instant he'd seen it. Positive reinforcement. Grrbreazzzzrg were a pack species by nature. Anything the pack leader did was immediately imitated, anything ordered was automatically carried out, and they were cute while they did it! He'd hoped Cassidy would catch a clue and realize that if she was a good little organic, then she'd get just as many privileges. Unfortunately, she wasn't that bright. There was one key difference in behavior, though. The femme began to grow more mellow. Oh, sure, she was still just as screechy and escape prone... but the clawing was a little less frequent. He could live with a little extra green drool in his interior if his seat cushions got to remain intact a while longer.

"Hey, Chester," a voice suddenly greeted, making him spin around in surprise. To his disappointment, it wasn't Cassidy and company. Lounging comfortably on the planter wall was a handful of organics wearing zoot-suits, flapper dresses, and peddle-shorts. Ruby red lips curved into a smile as Laney gave him a friendly wave. "It's been a while," she continued. "How are you doing?"

"Yeash," Ted mumbled under his breath to a fellow Jive-artist. "Is it just me, or did that suit get even brighter?" The others nodded.

"Uh, huh, adjusting," Swindle repeated, lowering his holographic sunglasses. He'd been eying the tall organic in the back of the small micro-herd of Humans, or more specifically, his outer-coverings. It was the same design of zoot-suit he'd taken out of the online advertizement, right down to the dull, almost gray tone of muted orange it had presented. Then he looked at his own electric orange coat. _Well_, he mused ruefully. _Obviously, this organic has managed to entice a mate to his side, or else he wouldn't be wearing such a dull color. So it's not the suit that must be the problem... It's Cassidy! _Laney's words abruptly registered on his processor and he gave her his full undivided attention. "Wait, what did you say?"

"Th-this is your first time in public school," Laney stuttered, at an abrupt loss as to why he was suddenly so intense. "Right?" At his uncharacteristic frown, she hastened to reassure him. "Oh, it's okay to be home-schooled! That sort of thing happens to a lot of people and it's nothing to be ashamed of!"

Relaxing as his HUD provided the definition for 'home-schooled,' he offered a condescending smile. _Hmmm, well I suppose that's one way to put 'Assembly Line Programming' downloads_,' he mused. Closing off the file he'd opened on witnesses, specifically, the section on how to remove organics quickly and permanently from a populated area without anyone noticing, he opened up a new file: information gathering. Any gossip could be useful toward maintaining a false identity. Turning on the charm, Swindle inquired, "Is it that obvious? I thought I was blending in pretty well."

"Alright, I found yah," a nasal sounding voice suddenly exclaimed making him jump. Seconds later, a pale freckled hand clapped Swindle's shoulder. Weasel grinned down at him jovially. "Hey, Chet! You would not believe how difficult it is to find you around here!"

Staring at blinding neon orange material, Ted wondered, "How could yah miss him?" This statement, like so many others, earned him another death glare from his girlfriend. His nose wrinkling in disgust, he studied the new interloper to their group with a sense of distaste. Whether by hearsay or scent, everyone knew about The Weasel.

"Hello Weasel," Laney began as pleasantly as she was capable of while holding her nose. Was it her imagination, or did he smell worse than the last time she'd seen him? "It's... ugh," her eyes began watering. "Been a while. How are you?"

"Huh?" Oblivious to his effect on others, he favored the cringing teenager with a manic smile. "Oh, hey, Laney! Sorry to visit and run, but I'm kinda on a time crunch here... Chester, yah coming?" With that, the scrawny blond grabbed the zoot-suiter's shoulder and was moving. Just in time, too! Mere seconds after he ducked around the science wing, Morty and half the football team tromped into view. They were dangerous, sadistic, and thankfully extremely punctual, always showing up by twelve O 'seven on the dot. As long as he was out of sight, they wouldn't bother him. Stopping up short, he cautiously peered around the corner of the building.

"Walcott," Swindle began in vaguely exasperated tones. He easily pulled free of the blond's grip and frowned at the solid layer of skin flakes that coated his avatar's elbow. Ugh, disgusting! With a frown, he did his best to wipe it off. Staring down at the organic currently behaving like a hunted petro-rabbit, he inquired, "What the frag are you doing?"

"Jeaz," the blond whispered as he twisted around and gave the huckster a glower. Well, his version of one. It looked more like he was staring up at an insanely bright light. Then again, Swindle's zoot-suit did have enough of a radioactive glow to qualify as a small sun. So, perhaps he was justified. "How many time's do I have to tell yah? The name's Weasel! Only my parents call me 'Walcott!"

"Fine, Weasel," Swindle drawled, rolling pixilated eyes toward the sky. "Yet again, I find myself asking, what are you doing?"

"Shhh," the blond exclaimed, waving frantically for silence. Three Senior students, the top echelon of the Popular crowd, were holding court just around the corner. With picturesque shade trees, a planter that was ideal for lounging on, and next to no visibility from the campus guard's offices, it was an ideal spot for the bullying crowd. It was also right next to the locker system. Since most of them had rich and influential parents to bail them out of trouble, they got off Scott free for every instance of bullying they committed. He was only thankful that the entire group hadn't gathered yet. Tensely, he waited until just the right moment, when Kass was just glancing away, Jett had his back turned, and Trixie was looking at her watch, then he was moving!

"Wha... Do you mind?!" Much to his embarrassment, Swindle found himself getting dragged behind the sneak thief by the back of his coat lapel. How embarrassing! Unfortunately, it was at exactly the right angle to make it nearly impossible for him to reach back and clobber him into paste! Besides, there was the very real fact that this organic was quite possibly the only creature on the face of the planet that could help him locate his quarry. It was still humiliating, though.

_ Note to self_, he grimly reflected as he practically lifted off the ground like a kite when Weasel picked up speed. _Next time, increase the magnetic pull of my avatar so it isn't quite as light weight._ The sneak-thief didn't seem to notice as he ran from one hiding place to the next. All the while, the blond constantly studied his surroundings, nervously peering around every corner. He found himself getting dragged over planters, through bushes, around trashcans, and behind picnic benches. It was while they were hiding for the tenth fragging time, that the huckster had had enough. "Weasel," he growled, at last pulling free. "If you don't tell me what you're doing, right now, I'll..."

"Dude, ixnay," the blond hissed back. "Just wait a minute..." Oblivious to their presence, the biggest bullying group on campus, the girl's basketball team, were walking past them. With lovesick eyes, he watched the Captain of the team walk out of sight. Tawnie was so beautiful. Too bad the most interaction he ever had with her was when she was giving him a swirly in the girl's restroom. He knew she didn't really mean it, though. She was just giving in to peer pressure. Once the danger had passed, Weasel's shoulder's sagged in relief. Then he turned his head. "Okay, here's the situation," Weasel explained in a normal tone of voice. "The Populars decided to expand their territory, and unfortunately we got crowded out. But no worries! Griff found a new spot, which is where we're headed. Capiche? Now, come on!"

One pixilated eyebrow on the rise, Swindle followed. It took seven more twisting turns, one of them around the overflowing trash-cans next to the digital public announcement board, but they finally made it! An abandoned grassy field was laid out before them. Park benches and overarching shade trees provided a nice contrast next to the constant rush of traffic on the nearby street. The only other structure around was an unfamiliar utilitarian building surrounded by dying rose bushes and a low wall. And huddled together beneath the scraggly remains of a skeletal oak tree, was the very herd he'd been searching for!

_Finally_, he reflected with a sense of relief. _Now I can get Cassidy and get the frag out of here! _ Ignoring Weasel, he marched forward only to almost topple over. He blinked at his holographic loafers, at first stunned, then disgusted. His feet had sunk down into a a mud-hole two and a half feet deep. _Naturally, with my luck this isn't easily recognizable unless one is actively looking for it,_ Swindle mused with an unhappy frown. _Talk about the perfect trap! Unbelievable._ Under normal circumstances, he'd simply climb out, drop his force-fields, and slough the filth off of his holoform. Of course, under normal circumstances, he wasn't hiding five-thousand credits worth of organic capture equipment.

"It's only a little further," Weasel explained over his shoulder. He'd been skirting around the deceptively solid looking plot of land purely by force of habit. At the sudden squelch of mud, Weasel twisted around with an expression of dismay on his freckled features. "Yeash, I thought everybody knew about that mud-hole. The sprinkler head busted last year and it's been a swamp ever since. I even heard some kid died out here..."

"Fascinating, Weasel," Swindle groused as he did his level best to reach dry land without decorating the rest of his avatar. With sullen, trudging steps, he shlogged his way up onto solid land. _Great_, he groused to himself as he shook a muddy foot. _Just great! First, I waste precious time trying to find that annoying femme, then I get the motherboard of all runarounds from my so called tour-guide, and now this!_ Unhappily, he looked down at his holoform's mud smeared legs. From roughly the knees down, he was covered with a wide array of substances, including decaying vegetation, decomposing organic remains, microscopic living organisms, insect larva, water saturated dirt, and the list went on. He shuddered.

"Yo, Chet," Weasel called from some distance ahead. Sending a worried glance at him, he inquired, "Aren't yah coming?"

"Yes, Weasel," Swindle replied, doing his level best to not sound like he wanted to stomp the organic flat. Apparently, it worked because Weasel offered a carefree smile in return. Deciding against pulling each device out of his holoform and then dropping the shields, a process that would waste entirely too much time, he resolved to let the gunk remain. Once it was dry, it would be relatively harmless. Right now, though... He scowled at the mess coating his holographic legs. It had the exact right consistency and viscous qualities to clog up his most sensitive equipment.

Doing his best to contain his ire, he made it past the mud pit only to pause as he registered their new surroundings. _Why, what an ideal nesting sight_, he reflected in surprised approval. Gradually turning his head, he considered this new location with a growing smile. _Complete with thick vegetation, over-arching shade trees, and organic seating areas! _Taking one step forward, he frowned as another loud squelching noise assaulted his sensors. Swindle sighed as he looked down. Sure enough, he'd stepped in the fragging mud pit again! _If only I could perform a simple topographic scan. It would take less than a click and then I could simply skirt around the whole slagging mess! Unfortunately, with that cyber-ninja breathing down my neck cables... Hey, wait a click!_ He paused in his negative thinking just as he was clawing his way back onto solid ground. Tilting his head, he noticed that the plant growth over the mud was much longer and slightly darker. Lifting his gaze, he studied how far this darker area extended and frowned. Suddenly, it became more than obvious why the fleshlings were avoiding this area. The mud pit was exactly thirty feet long at the widest, and by his estimation was at least as deep at the center. Easily large enough to swallow a Cybertronian whole, let alone a fleshy! His thoughts took a drastic turn toward the negative as he trudged toward his destination. _What the frag is that leader of theirs thinking?! This place is a death-trap!_

Compared to other buildings Swindle had encountered, the only structure in the area was large (by organic standards), boxy, and unimaginatively plain. Only a minimum of decorations adorned the roof-line... In fact, a very familiar gargoyle motif decorated one corner. He paused to analyze the statue. A quick reference to his sight map for a confirmation made him slump. _Terrific_, he sarcastically mused. T_hanks to this organic's infuriating tendency to meander, I just spent the greater portion of the lunch period traveling a distance I could walk in my alt-mode in fifteen seconds._ "Weasel," he growled. "Why didn't you just say everyone had moved to the other side of the theater?"

"What?" Pale blue eyes blinked back in puzzled surprise, before the blond became somewhat sheepish. "Oh, I guess I could have, huh? Never thought about it that way..." He paused, thinking about this new concept of the ages before shrugging and offering a cheerful smile. "Anyways, we're here now!"

"Hi, Weaz," Iris murmured without bothering to look up from her book. The goth was sprawled out underneath the oak tree, her dark purple Victorian gown arranged with casual decadence around her ankles. Her meal, a taco salad, rested on a nearby checkered napkin. Casually reaching into the nearby container, she selected a chip, doused it with a healthy mixture of mysterious green goop, and proceeded to consume it.

'Guacamole,' Swindle's HUD helpfully informed him. 'An organic fuel supplement made from avocados...' Rolling his holographic eyes skyward, Swindle shut off his search engine. He didn't need to know that much about the squishy's dining habits. Frankly, the green gooey stuff looked like a fungus he'd had the misfortune of cleaning out of some old mining equipment once. A scowl crossed his features. His visual acuity (which was thousands of times sharper than a Humans), was showing him exactly what she was eating on a microscopic level. Specifically, single-celled organisms squirming on every bite. Yuck! Shuddering, he focused on a different fleshling.

The others had chosen not to risk themselves with any possible mud stains and instead perched in various stages of laziness upon the planter wall. Nods of greeting met his gaze from each organic... except one. Sitting on the furthest corner of the planter wall, with an impenetrable wall of newspaper hiding most of her body from view, she was obviously not in a talkative mood. In fact, he couldn't even tell if it was her! Oh, he could perform a scan... A sidelong glance revealed a suspiciously innocuous motorcycle that was parked on the nearby curb just within sight. As he said, he could have performed a scan, if he didn't mind getting the slag beaten out of him by a circuit-su martial arts master! It looked like he'd have to identify her the hard way.

"Cassidy," he greeted pleasantly. Aside from a slight rustle from the oversized newspaper the organic was hiding behind, there was no answer. "What are the odds of finding you here?" The paper rustled again, this time to present an insulting gesture for his perusal. _Well, that answers any remaining doubts over whether or not I've found the right Human_, Swindle reflected with a rueful sneer. _Time to up the ante._

Re-reading the Want-Ads for the third time in a row, Cassidy sighed. Her dream job hadn't magically appeared like she'd hoped it would. There weren't even any fast-food places hiring! Glumly reaching down for her ham sandwich, she paused as the paper rustled. Brown eyes narrowed. Again, her reading material twitched. Then, in one long cataclysmic wave with headlines bleeding into nonsensical creases, the newspaper sagged down the center under the unrelenting force of a dusky masculine hand. This was followed by Chester's grinning face abruptly arriving inches in front of her like a jack-in-the-box. Raising one unamused eyebrow, the brunet resisted the urge to punch him. She took a bite of her sandwich and gave him a warning glare.

"There you are," Swindle declared winningly. "I thought those shoes looked familiar. Now, as I was saying..." He paused, and an expression of disgust flashed across his face. "Ewww! What in the known universe are you eating?!"

With an invitation like that, how could she resist? Opening her mouth, she showcased half-chewed ham and cheese on rye. An expression of bewildered disgust overcame his dusky features. Closing her mouth, Cassidy favored him with a grimy smile. Chester looked decidedly green around the gills by this point. Before he could retaliate, she reached up and gently placed two fingers in his forehead. Then she forcibly shoved him away. Letting out a surprised yelp, he lost his balance and toppled off of the wall. The resulting thud was more than satisfying. Confident she'd made her point, the brunet twisted around and placed her feet firmly on the wall where he'd been sitting. 'Okay,' she reflected, taking another bite of sandwich. 'So the job-hunt is a bust... What about the housing front?' She had given some thought to Ratchet's warning's about more giant robots trying to abduct her, but it didn't hurt to keep her prospects open. Gradually, a disquieting feeling began to encroach, like she wasn't alone. That was when a voice whispered into her ear.

"Classified Ads... interesting," Swindle breathed, hovering next to her shoulder. It hadn't actually occurred to him that his target might be interested in a job. That could be very useful. He'd been fully prepared to continue when the organic rudely interrupted him.

"Gaah," Cassidy shrieked in surprise as she rolled off the wall into an automatic fighting stance... Well, she would have if the planter hadn't gotten in the way. A loud crunch filled the air making everyone wince. Conversations ceased as every head turned in her direction. Red faced, the brunet did her best to untangle herself from the bramble bushes that had broken her fall. "Look," she growled. "For your information...Ugh! I'm an actress. Oof! Unfortunately... Ouch! We happen to share a theater class. That's it! So, unless you have some grand revelation concerning ACTING, I'm not interested!" Abruptly, she fell free, only to have her shoes catch on the edge of the planter wall. The muddy ground rose up to meet her like a long lost friend and she flinched, anticipating a concussion. Instead, a pair of wiry arms caught her around the waist. Brown eyes popped open to behold Chester's grinning features.

"But sweetheart," Swindle intoned, gently setting her on her feet. "That's where you're wrong! I share every class with you, and therefore, have something to say about all of them!"

"Don't remind me," Cassidy groaned, sounding like a martyr. Conversation had started up again... about her! Her blush deepened to crimson as she wondered, 'Could my day get any worse?'

"For instance," Swindle continued. "I happen to know about a job position that pays well and offers free room and board, besides!"

"Spare me," the teenager growled, while rolling her eyes. Gathering up her now somewhat torn and muddy newspaper, she held it in front of herself like a shield. She had no interest in listening to a sales pitch on all the joys and benefits of joining a brothel! Pervert. Her nose wrinkled as she glanced at his filthy state. "What happened to you? Yah look like yah picked a fight with a swamp monster... And lost."

"Hah, hah," Swindle sneered, squelching over to a nearby water faucet. The mud was beginning to dry, killing off microscopic organisms one by one and giving him an over-all itchy feeling. He shuddered. _And another personal note_, he silently reflected. _Lower the touch sensitivity levels on my avatar's programming._ Twisting the knob, he watched water sluice over the surface of his force-field, washing the dust away with it...mostly. Muddy streams of semi-clear water remained behind with weakly squirming micro-organisms clinging to his magnetized holoform. Turning his head, he eyed a certain curly haired brunet with a sly calculating glance. _I just have one last item to retrieve... _ A pale freckled hand unexpectedly clapped him on the shoulder, startling him.

"Dang, Chester," Weasel exclaimed. He stared wide eyed at the zoot-suiter's pants cuff. "What in the world is that material made of?!" Glinting and glistening wherever the water hit, the cloth shimmered as water slid off of it in a steady stream. Before the zoot-suiter could answer, the blond continued. "Yah know, most people can't handle that much synthetic fiber up against their skin. How can yah stand it?"

"Some people happen to like that kind of material," Swindle dryly replied, recovering from almost getting found out. He'd forgotten how obvious a magnetic barrier became when liquid was introduced to it's surface. If he kept his shields in place and shut off the holographic portion of his avatar, he'd glimmer and shine like a piece of clear glass. A quick glance around reassured him that none of the other organics seemed to be looking in his direction. Quickly shutting off the water, he briefly increased the energy output of his magnetic shields to evaporate the liquid before moving to join the small herd. There was no way he was making that mistake again.

"You sir, are a glutton for punishment," Weasel laughed, slapping the zoot-suiter on the back once more. Then the blond was running. "Now out of my way! I only have five minutes and fifteen seconds to eat before the bell!" Shoving his way between Cassidy and Griff, he plopped down, and then began searching through his pockets.

"We didn't think you were going to make it," Griff commented. Brushing aside his dreadlocks, he gave Swindle an enigmatic smile. Then he went back to his cell phone.

"Yeah, yeah," Weasel snorted. "Just remember, I won the bet! I said I'd get him out here in one piece, and I did it!" Abruptly, his pale blue eyes lit up as he found what he'd been looking for. Pulling a half smooshed peanut-butter and jelly sandwich out of his back jeans pocket, he began eating.

_None of the organics appear to be paying attention to me,_ Swindle reflected in surprise. Iris continued to lay on the ground, lost in a Gothic romance of ages past, Griff was fiddling around with his cell-phone while trying to eat, Cassidy was still lost in newsprint, and Weasel was still talking... with his mouth full of half digested organic fuel. 'Substance identified,' his HUD was pleasantly informing him. 'Wheat, a common Human fuel source, is molded into a compound known as bread through a process involving the brief interaction of a type of fungus known as Saccharomyces cerivisiae, commonly called yeast...' He hastily shut down his search engine before it could provide any more gory details. It was bad enough that he was being given a front row seat, again, to the beginning stages of organic digestion! "So, Cassidy," he began in casual tones, commanding her attention by brightening his suit until it nearly glowed. As he'd hoped, she was instantly mesmerized. Now to go in for the kill! Smiling charmingly, he adjusted his shades. "I was wondering if you'd like to..."

"Eww," Harriet moaned theatrically, interrupting him. She lifted the toe of her hopelessly stained white boot out of the mud puddle she'd had the misfortune of stepping in. Taking a tissue out of her knapsack, she walked over to the nearby water pipe, got it wet, and proceeded to vigorously polish her soiled footwear. "Griffin! I told you this was a terrible location to have lunch!" Disdainfully, she looked around until she spotted a rather suspicious looking open newspaper. The pair of legs sticking out clad entirely in torn denim was another clue, and the fact that Chester was hovering around her was the last. Marching smartly up to the seventeen year old, she held out a pale, nail polished hand and requested, "Cassidy, cardigan? Now!" Ignoring the annoyed glare she was getting from the zoot-suiter, she waited impatiently for a garment that was too slow to appear. Rustling was heard from the papery depths. Then, it arrived... with chalk dust on it! "Ugh, Cass, it's dirty!"

"Be thankful it's not ink," Cassidy mumbled, still lost in fine print. Somewhere in here was a job, or an apartment, or something! Ignoring Harriet's put upon snort, and Chester's annoyed grousing at being interrupted, she turned the page.

"Quit complaining," Griff muttered, not bothering to look up from his cell phone. "I've already got a few leads out. We'll be out of here in no time."

"I don't know, man," Weasel began, glancing around nervously. "Didn't some kid die out here, or something? At least... that's what I heard."

"Anyway," Swindle smoothly began, doing his level best to build up the momentum he'd lost when Harriet had so rudely interrupted. "As I was saying, I've got a little free time on my hands, and I was wondering if..." He trailed off as Griff continued talking.

"This is only temporary until I've had the chance to scout around," the techno-jock patiently explained, munching on his sandwich. Truthfully speaking, it was somewhat embarrassing to be forced off of their long established turf. It didn't matter if the ones who had done it were the most powerful clique in the school, it was still galling! Uncomfortably, Weasel shifted to a less damp location on the wall. Punctuating the silence was the drip-drip-drip of the perpetually leaky sprinkler. Nearby, a raven defiantly cawed for attention. The lack of their fellow Human-beings was noticeable... as was the gigantic swamp of a mud puddle. Well aware of the spooky quality of their location, he sighed. "Just give it time..."

"...Was wondering if," Swindle repeated, feeling exasperated. His avatar's programing registered his growing frustration and began causing his face to heat up in a fierce blush. It was infuriating to be ignored like this! Throughout it all, shrouded in an oasis of newspaper and silence, Cassidy continued to read on.

Harriet scowled at Griff even as she put her cardigan back in her backpack. Chalk dust was terribly difficult to remove from angora. If she couldn't shake it out, she'd have to take it to the dry-cleaners. The mud stain on her pristine white boot just added insult to injury. Both he and Cass had to pay, but how? Her expression became thoughtful. Turning toward the lounging goth, she assumed a deliberately fake sounding British accent as she inquired, "Lady Iris, wouldst thou enjoy a stroll about the garden?"

"Stop it," Griff interrupted, beginning to blush. "Nobody talks that way anymore."

"Certainly Miss Harriet," Iris politely purred, a sly smile drifting across her dusky features. "But only if it takes a nonce..." She loved getting other people riled up. Her twin brother Griff, with his private lifestyle and cool demeanor, was particularly difficult. Until she'd overheard Weasel and Cassidy doing poor imitations of the British accents from 'My Fair Lady' and Griff's loud protests, she hadn't even know it irritated him.

"Ugh, I can feel my popularity level drifting down even further," Griff groaned before favoring the track runner with a glare. "Quit talking like that, or if yah have to, at least do it right. It's embarrassing."

"Oh, but Lady Iris," Harriet continued, a distressed expression overtaking her features. "With how treacherous the terrain is... It could take longer than a nonce!"

Looking up from his hand-held video game, Weasel abruptly wondered, "How long is a nonce, anyway?"

"You're the one with the cell-phone," Cassidy replied, not bothering to look away from her newspaper. Ignoring the other conversations going on around them, she advised the sneak-thief, "Just log onto some encyclopedia, or something..."

Developing just as concerned an expression, the goth girl wondered, "You mean it could take a nonce and a half?" A groan sounded from her twin brother at the words, making her smile.

"At least," Harriet replied, nodding earnestly. Still talking in assumed accents, the two of them strolled away while carefully avoiding the much hated mud pit.

"Nobody talks like that anymore," Griff declared, well aware that people were beginning to stare at them. "Stop it!" Laughter met his statement. Subsiding into a grumble, the older teenager concentrated on his lunch. The techno-rapper was the unofficial leader of the group for a number of reasons, not least of which was his ability to kick all their butts at martial arts. Of course, Harriet was of the opinion that he had that status because he was the only one who had managed to hold onto his sanity... But, eh, semantics. A leader was a leader.

"Isn't the theater available?" Dead silence met Cassidy's question and she glanced up from her newspaper. Optimus Prime had managed to make the front headlines for the third day in a row. Hooray! Rolling her eyes at the grandiose picture, she turned the page. "I mean," she continued, "It's dry..."

"True, but eating in there is like admitting defeat," Weasel insisted. "Only the lowest of the low hang out in the theater building during lunch. You're an automatic social pariah if you so much as walk in the foyer! Everyone knows that!"

"Like I said, I'm working on it," Griff growled, aiming a death glare around the small crowd. Nothing but the sound of chewing met his statement as silence yet again filled the grove. Taking a defiant bite of peperoni pizza, he also began chewing. Slowly, normal conversations resumed.

'Peperoni,' Swindle's HUD helpfully informed him. 'A kind of heavily spiced salami usually made from pork or beef...' This explanation was swiftly followed by images taken directly from a meat processing plant. He ruthlessly shut it down.

"We're here," Harriet trilled as she strolled back up to the group, still firmly ensconced in a British accent. She smiled at Griff's annoyed grumbling. "Why, look at the lovely picnic! Dear Griffen, you have truly outdone yourself... Slipping back into an American accent, she pointedly informed the techno-rapper, "And I'll continue talking like that as long as we're forced to dine here." Her threat delivered, the track-runner calmly resumed her seat upon the wall and began touching up her lipstick.

Sitting back, the huckster took a moment to re-order his thoughts and review a thoroughly clogged memory core. So many conflicting communications were making his head spin. As he more closely considered the accumulated data, slowly parceling out one voice at a time, he came to a gradual realization. Aside from the occasional comment, no-one was listening to each other. In fact... He took another solid look at the data. People didn't really seem to care! The Decepticon slowly shook his head, feeling amusement gradually overcome his frustration. At random moments, one of them would pause in their own selfish subject and make a comment on another organic's words, then ignore the answer. All of this was a somewhat alien form of non-communication by his kind's standards.

Cybertronians rarely talked, at least, not out loud. There was a ton of com-chatter, but only one at a time and only to specific targets. It was considered exceptionally rude to overlap another person's communique, but amongst this organic species, no-one seemed to care. They were like a flock of birds. All chatter, no content. If this was a group of his own kind, everyone would be offended by now! Gradually, Swindle became aware of something unexpectedly new: silence. He looked around. The abrupt lack of noise was unnerving to say the least. Had something happened? Some horrible upset that he'd missed? Carefully, he examined each organic's features and came to realize that the one thing the entire micro-herd seemed to be doing... was staring at Cassidy. Blinking in consternation, because really, he'd had no idea any of them were listening to one another, Swindle also turned to look. She sat absolutely still, a half chewed carrot-stick stuck between her teeth and a trapped look in her eyes. Only the drip-drip-drip of the broken sprinkler head filled the air. "Er," she began, swallowing hard. Suddenly loosing her appetite, she put it down. "Weaz, now's not really a good time to talk about that..."

"Come on, Cass," Weasel pleaded, his pale blue eyes shining. "Getting abducted by aliens is the coolest thing that's ever happened to anybody in the history of Detroit High, and I want to know what happened! Some of those rumors have got to be true, like the implants..."

"Weaz," Cassidy muttered, her blush intensifying as whispers started up. "Nothing was implanted..."

"Or the experimentation," the blond continued, warming up to his favorite subject.

"Hon," Cassidy cringed, recognizing the careful blank expression on Griff's face that meant he was analyzing her body language for telltale signs that she was lying. The equally shrewd looks coming off of Harriet and Iris, who were obviously searching for the same clues, made her want to sink into the ground and disappear. "There weren't really any experiments..."

"And the mother ship," the blond enthused growing misty eyed. "I mean, Jeaz! Everybody says yah got to go to another planet! Why can't I have that kind of luck. Well, the alien impregnation I can do without..."

"WEASEL," Cassidy snarled, grabbing him by the arm. Now as red as a cherry-tomato, she glared ferociously into his innocent blue eyes. Slowly, dreading what she'd see, she looked back at the others. Griff was looking down at his food and not eating it. Studying his body language, she decided he wasn't ashamed of her... just sympathetic. Harriet and Iris were also avoiding looking in her direction. Also a good sign. Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze to the one wild card in the group. Chester was new, untrustworthy, the bane to her high-school career... and he was currently doing his best impression of a landed fish.

"Woah, wait a minute, he's choking," Weasel exclaimed. Jumping to his feet and racing around the ever present mud hole, he slammed a palm into the zoot-suiter's back only to flinch back in surprise. Did his hand just go through Chester's body? He stared in consternation at his perfectly ordinary hand, trying to wrap his mind around the concept, before he shrugged it off in favor of more important matters. Worriedly, he resumed pounding the guy's back. "It's okay, Chet. Just let it all out..."

"I'm fine," Swindle wheezed, wiping away fake tears. And he thanked his lucky stars he had an internal search engine for looking up peculiar concepts like 'Choking.' It was the perfect excuse for hiding the fact that he'd almost lost control of his avatar at the mention of 'impregnation.' A scowl flickered over his holographic features. _Over my offlined frame!_ Playing a sound recording he'd picked up off the Internet, he went through the motions of clearing blocked airways. "Just give me a click... Cough... I just need time!"

"Are you sure," Harriet inquired, raising one eyebrow. "The nurses station is just across the quad..."

"Here, Chet," Weasel worriedly muttered, thrusting a mini-carton of milk up under his nose. "It ain't water, but it should stop the coughing, at least." To their surprise, the zoot-suiter took one look, and froze. He stared wide eyed into the open container for a long moment. Then he did something nobody expected. Developing a somewhat ill expression, he clapped a hand to his mouth, leaped to his feet, and raced out of sight. Slowly, the blond lifted the container up and sniffed it. "Huh, it doesn't smell like it's gone bad... Think he's just got a more sensitive nose?"

"Maybe he's allergic," Griff suggested after a moment of thought. "I've heard of some people that are that badly affected..." The bell rang signaling a return to academic drudgery. As one, the teenagers stood up and began picking up their belongings. "...And would you guys quit talking like Mary Poppins?! Ugh! It's disturbing!" Laughter rose up around the group even as everyone left. Shaking his head, the techno-jock shouldered his backpack and donned his visor sunglasses.

"Um, guys," Weasel began, before looking worriedly toward where Chester had run off to. "Maybe we should check on him... I watch the surgery channel all the time and I do know CPR..."

"He's fine," Cassidy interrupted, shouldering past them. 'If he's really lactose intolerant, I'm sure he knows how to handle the problem on his own." Covered in vicious scratches and pinpricks, courtesy of an overly friendly bramble bush, the brunet couldn't help but feel a little vindictive as she reflected, 'Hopefully, he'll be so sick, he won't be able to attend fifth period...'

_Ten minutes later..._

"Alright, class, places please," their Theater Arts Teacher, Misty Tannon announced.

Slowly, the students filed up the narrow stage steps. Cassidy did her level best to ignore the zoot-suiter who was trailing along directly behind her. He hadn't gone home for the rest of the day like she'd hoped. Brutally quashing the faint twinge of guilt this thought inspired, she concentrated on climbing the stairs. 'Besides,' she justified to herself. 'The bastard deserves it! After all the pranks he's played...' She glanced back and gritted her teeth in rising annoyance. 'In fact, judging by that smile on his face, he already has another practical joke in mind! Does he have to be so close?!' A hard as rock patent leather loafer stepped on her one of her heals with painful intensity. Okay, she knew that was deliberate! Resisting the urge to reach back there and slap him, she trudged onward until the hardwood floor of the stage was under her feet. That was when an idea occurred to her. Settling down, she took off her backpack...yawned...and stretched... With calculating brown eyes, she waited until Chester was just beginning to sit down. Then she made her move. Suddenly grabbing her books, she performed a slide more commonly seen on the baseball field. In seconds, she was suddenly on the other side of the stage, far beyond his reach. So what if all of her fellow classmates were complaining about her abrupt lack of sanity. She was free of a very pesky prankster!

Misty rolled her eyes. She waited until all the teenagers were sitting on the dusty wood floor before continuing. "Now, as you know, the Autumn Theater Production is coming up. What you don't know is that Vice Principle Rowcliff has decided to bump up the production date three weeks early..." Groans sounded at this pronouncement. Determined, she rallied ahead before the complaints became any louder. "Which Means," she declared, projecting her voice until the naysayers drifted off into silence. "...that we need to work really hard at getting things ready. I still expect all of you to work on your Shakespeare projects for your mid-term grade, but we are also spending the first half of each class prepping for the big show." A pale, scrawny hand rose in the back of the group and Misty nodded.

"We haven't even picked out the play, yet," Miles complained, before sneezing explosively into a tissue. He hated this time of year. It seemed like every thing, from pine tree pollen to shower mold, was out to get him! Another allergic sneeze made him nearly jump out of his skin and he blew his nose. With watery misery, he stared up at the Drama teacher.

"Exactly what we're going to discuss," Ms. Tannon agreed, favoring him with a sympathetic smile. "So, how about it? We did 'High-Spirits' last year... A tale about unrequited love beyond the grave." Grins flashed amongst the burgeoning actors while the newbies looked on in puzzlement. "And I can see by some of you're expressions that you remember it. But, just because it's happening four days before Halloween doesn't mean we have to do something spooky."

"Oh," one of the cheerleader wannabees declared in rapturous tones. "I'd love it if we did something ultra-romantic! Like... 'Guy's and Dolls,' maybe?" This suggestion was met with snorts of laughter and glances toward Cass and the others. Swindle raised one holographic eyebrow. Frankly, he could care less about the subject matter. He was just biding his time until an opportune 'hiring' moment arrived.

"No way," Weasel exclaimed, sitting upright. "There is no way I'd cast my vote for 'Guys and Dolls!' My folks pester me enough, as it is!" Stifled giggles and jeering comments met his remarks, making him blush. Stubbornly pouting, the lanky blond crossed his arms.

"I've got to side with Weaz on this one," Cassidy seconded. "Don't get me wrong, the music is fantastic... I just don't think the attention it would bring would be all that beneficial to the school." Nods followed her statement.

"Aw, come on," Trinity, a very pretty red-head exclaimed while trying to contain her laughter. "You guys would be perfect in that play... And we've already got a guy wearing a zoot-suit!" She indicated Chester with a flourish.

"I'm a little lost," Swindle muttered to a nearby female organic. "Why is this play such a bad thing?" A quick Internet search had yielded information on a musical about a bunch of small time gangsters, gamblers and hoods who were trying to out-swindle each other and got married instead. Sure, it was a little corny, but it was alright beyond that.

Always eager for gossip, the younger Freshman whispered, "Damon Runion, the one who wrote the original story? You do know he based it off of real people that he knew, right?" Quirking an eyebrow, the huckster nodded. Yes, that particular section of writing had been emphasized quite clearly in the online article. "And you do know," she continued. "That since those characters got married, they were bound to have children? Then those children would have children, and so on, and so forth?" At his continuing expression of puzzlement, she gave a significant glance toward Weasel.

"Yah so owe me for this," Weasel groused, finally losing the argument with the others. He climbed to his feet. Taking a moment to prepare, he paused. Then his demeanor changed. With shifty eyed innocence, he regarded everyone in the room with fidgeting hands and a nervous smile as he simpered, "Nicely-Nicely, thank you! At your service!" Laughter and a smattering of applause met his statement. Allowing the persona to drift away, he glared at the ensuing laughter before adding. "And his name was actually Nicely-Nicely Weisel. Thank God, Runyon changed the last name, or I'd never live it down!"

"So, wait," a Senior dressed in a reflective synthetic techno-rapper outfit interrupted. "Yah mean, you're a however many generations descendant of..." Miles trailed off as he favored the class with wide eyed amazement. "How many of you guys are related to those characters?" Glumly Cassidy, Weasel, Griff, Iris, and a few others raised their hands.

"It's fun to tease them about it," Misty commented with a smile. "Okay, no 'Guys and Dolls." How about... 'Dracula,' or 'Spoon River Anthology?" This steered the debate away from any notorious ancestral exploits and back to more important topics. 'Dracula' had been done to death. Half the schools in America were bound to be doing some version of it. Likewise, 'Spoon River,' a play about a bunch of ghosts lamenting the mistakes they'd made while they were alive, was considered too depressing. Other suggestions, such as 'Harvey' (too Easter-ish), and 'The Mummy' (also, done to death), were discussed. At last, it came down to three possible suggestions. An adapted play production of 'Ghostbusters,' 'Young Frankenstein,' or 'Beetle Juice,' were the final choices. Since the vote was fairly even for all three, Ms. Tannon declared that she'd carefully weigh each suggestion and inform them over the final decision tomorrow. "Why don't all of you spread out," she concluded. "The debate lasted so long that we don't have time for a warm-up. Just find someplace relatively private and practice your lines until the class is over!"

_Finally_, Swindle mused, climbing to his holographic feet. _I was getting so bored, I'd started watching Human infomercials for entertainment! Now, I'll just get Cass and... Where did she go?_ Surprised, he looked around the increasingly abandoned backstage area to find that the organic he was looking to acquire had vanished. "Oh, you have got to be fragging kidding me," the 'Con-mech muttered out loud. His processor already hard at work calculating where the Human might wander, he stalked away, all the while puzzling over how she managed to sneak past his sensory system so often.

_Meanwhile..._

Deeply enmeshed in Shakespearean lines, Cassidy wandered across the stage. "...But I know when thou hast stolen away," she recited to herself. Then she paused and her forehead wrinkled. "Hast stolen away," she repeated before trailing off into frustrated silence. Taking out her bundle of books, papers, and other miscellaneous school supplies, she yanked her script out into the open and studied it with a critical eye.

Fernley Chan, a rather shy Sophomore that was just starting her theater training, looked up from her own script as the brunet walked by. "And in the shape of Corin," she prompted innocently. At Cassidy's surprised glance, the cheerleader wannabe offered a lighthearted shrug. "That is the next line, right?"

"Er, yeah," Cass replied after a momentary glance at the script. She just really wished she'd had the chance to practice her lines at the base... rather than play an endless game of cat and mouse with a needle wielding alien doctor. Blushing in embarrassment, the brunet mumbled a thank you and hurried away before she could flub up any more lines.

"No problem," Fernley replied, going back to her own lines. She got to play Juliet with the cutest boy in class! Smiling happily, she gazed after her co-star with a dreamy look clouding her features. The dark haired Freshman sighed as she went back to reading her script.

"...And in the shape of Corin," Cassidy continued, only to pause again. Squinting her eyes closed as if she was enduring the mother of all headaches, she swayed for a moment. Then her eyes popped open and she smiled in relief. "That's it! 'And in the shape of Corin..." She was about to continue, but someone beat her to it.

"Sat all day playing on pipes of corn," a muscle-bound Senior interrupted. Robby offered the brunet a boyish grin. "Well, it is what you were going to say. Right?" At her wordless nod, he snorted out a laugh. "Heh, I can't believe how easy this class is," he continued. "I had such an effortless time memorizing my own lines, I decided to memorize all the other scripts, too!"

"Thanks, Rob," the brunet grumbled. Now blushing as fiercely as a tomato, she stalked to the other side of the stage. Glancing furtively around for any witnesses, and finding none, she at last relaxed. Then she focused once more on her script. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and recited, "Playing on pipes of corn... and versing love to... to..."

"Amorous Phillida," a voice called from up above, making her jump in alarm. Her heart pounding, the brunet glared up into the rafters. Weasel sat precariously balanced on the metal railing of the catwalk, smiling down at her. "I'm right, aren't I? Boy, I wish I got to do your play! Those lines are insanely easy to remember!"

"Believe me when I say this, Weaz," Cassidy called back. "I wish yah did, too! Now, could I have a little privacy?"

"Sure thing, Cass," the blond tossed back, already focused on his work. "Just let me fix this, and I'll be out of your hair." Narrow fingers, grimy with dust, twisted and fiddled with the wires of one of the overhead stage lights. 'That should do it,' he reflected with a satisfied smirk. Flicking a nearby manual switch, he waited. Nothing happened. Frowning, he slapped the fixture's oversized metal side. It flickered sporadically once, before fading out again. "What the...," the blond mumbled out loud. Scowling at the disobedient light, he then considered the device it was mounted to. Tilting his head, his pale blue eyes followed the wires attached to that as they went up along the ceiling, connected at the wall, and then traveled down until... There stood Cassidy, leaning against the ground cable. "Oh," he exclaimed. "No wonder! Hey, Cass! Could yah move away from the wall, please?"

"Huh?" Focused entirely on her lines, the brunet barely heard him and had to take a moment to blink the cobwebs out of her thoughts. Then she realized what he meant. "Oh, okay," she replied as she shuffled away, her brown eyes going back to the script in her hands. "This good?"

The stage lights abruptly flickered to life and stayed lit without any further prompting, making Weasel grin. Satisfied, the blond patted the now properly functioning fixture. "Yeah, Cass," he called as he casually walked away. "That did it, thanks!"

"No problem," Cassidy muttered, not really paying attention. She almost had that first part memorized, too, she just knew it! "Okay, Cass," she coached herself. "You can do this! Once more, from the top!" Taking a deep breath, and wishing she'd spent yesterday afternoon memorizing her lines (instead of being terrorized by Ratchet), she prepared herself. Slowly lifting her head, she opened her mouth...

"Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania," Swindle interrupted with a wide grin. He had been observing her from the shadows for quite some time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Now, there were no witnesses and he was determined to quit wasting time! The first step in his latest plan was winning her trust. Considering the glower she was aiming his way, he had a long way to go. A wary smile stretching across his holographic features, he protested, "Well, you did say to start from the top!"

"Argh, this is impossible," the brunet moaned. Slumping in despair, she stalked to the edge of the stage and sat down. Depressed, she gazed down past her sneakers into the shadowy orchestra pit. Shuffling her script around, she stared down at her lines. "All I wanted was to do my homework! But do those freaky robots even care?! And I don't even have my lines memorized, yet!"

Tilting his head, he watched the organic sitting there talking to herself about how awful her life was. What a golden opportunity! Schooling his features to appear as sympathetic as possible, he strolled across the stage and settled down next to her. Offering her a sincere smile, he declared, "Personally speaking, I think you're just trying too hard. If you focused on something else, the lines would come to you easily!" At her skeptical frown, he smiled with guileless innocence. The next moment, he struck!

"Hey," she squawked in surprise. "What the...?" Blinking, she watched the zoot-suiter dance up the theater aisle, a packet of papers in his hand. She stared at him in consternation. Looking down at her now empty lap, her features darkened in self-conscious realization. Cassidy was expecting a number of things from Chester when that sly, dishonest look had twinkled to life in his dark eyes, but stealing her script wasn't one of them! Hopping down into the orchestra pit, she chased after him, yelling, "Give that back, yah jerk!"

"Mmm," Swindle hummed, pretending to consider her demand. "No. Not until you say the lines!" He ducked out of reach at the last second just as she pounced. _Everything is going perfectly according to plan_, he enthused as he danced out of reach. _Well, granted... This isn't exactly like activating her mating protocols,_ he amended as he gazed at her murderous expression. _That means that all those joors pouring over those romance movies I downloaded off the Internet were a waste of my time!_ Dodging a flailing fist, he was, yet again, all smiles. _Oh, well. As long as it works... All I have to do is lead her out of the building! With any luck, she'll be so incensed that she'd follow me straight to my alt-mode! She'd be easy to capture, then!_ Noticing she was beginning to lose interest in chasing him, he waved her script again. "Ill met by moonlight," he taunted. "Remember?"

"Chester, I'm warning you," Cassidy growled, her eyes glittering with malice. She had been considering abandoning the chase and asking Ms. Tannon for a replacement script. 'Is a simple bundle of papers worth all this aggravation?' As she glared up at her all too smugly grinning co-star, the brunet clenched her fists as she concluded, 'Yes, it is worth it. And now the bastard is climbing over chairs! Argh!' Completely without realizing it, words that she had been searching for all afternoon began filling the air. "What, jealous Oberon," Cass ground out, her eyes fixed on his smugly smiling face. "Fairies," snarl, "Skip hence..." Her hand missed the paper by inches before she suddenly paused. Blinking in stunned amazement, she stared at Chester in surprise. "I don't believe it," Cassidy muttered, momentarily forgetting her anger. "One of your stupid techniques really works?!"

"Excuse me," Swindle protested, straightening with indignant surprise. "Since when are my techniques stupid?" Pausing in his efforts to climb over a theater seat, he glared at the organic who had dared question him. At the skeptical look she favored him with, the Decepticon scowled. "You," he sputtered. "I'll have you know I've been working these scams for longer than you've been..." He trailed off, abruptly realizing that he was about to let the cyber-cat out of the bag over a 'hire-and-capture' ploy cleverly disguised as a memorization exercise. Swiftly, the 'Con-mech switched gears. "What I mean is," he smiled through gritted holographic teeth. "If it's stupid, but it works..."

"It's not stupid," Cassidy concluded with a defeated sigh. "Alright, we'll continue playing Keep-Away..." Then her forehead wrinkled as she gave him a puzzled frown. "Where did we leave off, again?"

"Actually, it's my turn," Swindle replied, still giving her an expression of wounded pride. "And since you think my methods are so childish, I'm keeping your script!" At her protesting shout and frantic dive for that most coveted of items, he easily ducked out of the way. For a few clicks, he'd been afraid that the moment was lost. Now, as he raced into the aisle with a seventeen year old hot on his pixilated heals, he wondered why he didn't think of this sooner! Noticing she was beginning to slow down as he reached the main doors of the theater, he called over his shoulder, "Tarry rash wanton?"

"I'll show yah 'rash,' yah bastard," Cassidy shouted, picking up speed. "By the time I'm through with you, they'll be sending in the ambulance!" She didn't notice the minor earthquake that shook the ground. Someone else, though, did.

Swindle abruptly stopped in his tracks and his avatar's eyes widened. A new sensation had just invaded his sensors, one that was very familiar. It was faint. Frowning, he analyzed, sorted, and identified that distant rumble as the percussion shock-wave of a particle-excelerator weapon going off. He didn't even notice when Cassidy practically collided with him and violently ripped the flimsy paper script out of his holographic hand. Nor did he particularly care that his latest hiring ploy was rapidly going up in smoke as she stalked away in a rage. The Decepticon was far too busy cross-referencing his own personal sight map, the organic news service drones, and the city grid in his efforts to avoid detection while finding out where the frag it was coming from! _Please don't be anywhere nearby_, the 'Con silently pleaded to a deity he didn't even believe in. _I've got too many credits riding on this deal to let it go to the Pit in some stupid, outdated, glitched up... Slag!_ Holographic shoulders sagged as the answer presented itself on his HUD. An alarm began blaring over the organic PA system and teenagers all over the school looked up in surprise.

Barely thirty feet beyond Detroit High School's main entrance... was WAR.


	10. Chapter 10

Counterfeit

Chapter 10: Bully for You

By: Mooncrossed

_ Hey, everyone! Sorry about the long wait. Real life decided it needed to give me a sucker punch! Many thanks go out to Noella50881 (man, do I know what that feels like! Writer's block is a real pain. I was a little worried that I didn't get the cliff-hanger just right. Thanks for the reassurance), to Starwatcher007 (blushes. Glad you're enjoying the story!), to XxshadowfangxX (The world may never know... and maybe that's a good thing. Happy I made you laugh!), to Redtailhawk19 (Swindle does a mini happy dance. He loves it when he gets more fans! Happy you're enjoying the story!), and to writergurl616 (hmmm... Only Swindle knows for sure.) I don't own Transformers, the collected writings of Joel Chandler Harris, the Internet, or Disney's Gargoyles. Now, on with the show! _

_Deep beneath the schools theater building..._

Cassidy stared, her eyes intently focused on the cards she held. It had the potential to turn into a straight flush...if a certain someone would quit blocking the light! Brown eyes flickered toward Chester as he, yet again, paced in front of their only light source. The small penlight's glow wavered feebly. It had been graciously donated for the noble cause of illuminating their secret poker game by Weasel. Of course, there were other light sources around the theater's expansive basement... well patrolled areas. Mumbling in a guttural language to himself that sounded vaguely Arabic, the teenager in the day-glow orange zoot-suit feverishly paced by them again. She frowned down at her cards. Or maybe it was one of the Slavic dialects? A scowl crossed her face as the light was blocked for the millionth time. On the next pass, she swore she was going to trip him. Her voice a soft drawl of annoyance, she inquired, "Anybody else feel like they're at the zoo?"

"Yeah," Griff muttered. "Right next to the tiger cage." Focused on his cards, he did his level best to ignore the source of their distractions.

Weasel gazed absently at the shifting shadows on the basement wall. There were a lot of people down here, and not just actors. Interconnecting tunnels that were originally installed for the use of janitors and maintenance personnel were now being used for a new purpose: Robot Emergency Drills (RED's for short). They had folks from the English wing, special education, manicurists class, etc. In other words, everything that was an elective was currently residing amongst them. The blond suspected it was the only real reason they hadn't been found out, yet. Teachers had their hands full trying to wrangle everybody else... And speaking of which...

"Seriously, though, we might have to stage a full on intervention here," Weasel mumbled, his pale blue eyes worriedly studied the zoot-suiter as he paced by. "Dude's freaking out!" According to statewide public school policy, the safest place to go during a giant robot battle was underground. The fact that a several ton alien could easily crash through and kill everyone was staunchly ignored in favor of a hasty public relations campaign. Chester stalked by like a psychedelic checkered flag, and the blond sighed. New guys always suffered panic attacks during their first alien battle. Chewing his lip, he puzzled over how to keep the huckster from having a full on freak out. Nothing was coming to mind. All the while, he studied everyone else. He always agreed to stand as lookout, mostly because he sucked at bluffing. But that was okay! This kind of gig ensured he'd get a cut of the jackpot no matter who won.

"Guys, stop pointing it out," Cassidy muttered, absently scratching at a long thin scab on her arm... which matched the one on her ribcage... and complemented the pinpricks on her face and hands. Things like that tended to happen when one fell into a bramble bush. Forcing herself to stop, her eyes narrowed on her cards as she mumbled, "He's just doing it for attention." If she worked things right, she just might be able to bluff her way into an extra fifty bucks. Silence descended over the small group, broken only by the frantic pacing of a severely agitated zoot-suiter.

If they'd had any idea of what was actually happening, the organics might not be so blase about their situation. Swindle knew. A burst of pyrotechnic fury struck the air up above, making the ground shudder underneath his holographic feet. He scowled accusingly up at the ceiling. Oh, he knew. Three news stations, a pirated satellite, and ten security cameras from nearby buildings ensured that he got a perfectly clear view of the tussle happening up above. He'd be out there as well if it wasn't for the fact that he'd been corralled and herded into the basement before he could shut down his holo-emiter in a more private location. Now, here he was, with too many witnesses, his unmoving frame up above, and his future employee in danger of off-lining before he could acquire her! Spinning around, he glared at Cassidy and her companions incredulously. Were they suicidal?!

"Your bid," Griff drawled. Grumbling, the others dug into their pockets for loose change and school supplies to be used as bargaining chips. None of them looked up as Chester marched up to them, one hand upraised, an obvious rant about to be unleashed. Then he paused. His breathing got a little easier and his footsteps slowed. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed and a familiar mischievous twinkle entered his dark eyes... Well, what they could see of them. How he hadn't killed himself with those stupid sunglasses on in this light was still a mystery. The rat-a-tat-tat of alien gunfire sounded, so close, yet so far away, and just like that, the spell was broken. Letting out a stream of fluid words that sounded vaguely Hawaiian, he resumed his pacing twice as fast! Scowling, the poker players hunched their shoulders defensively over their cards and attempted to ignore him.

"Man, I am telling you," the sneak-thief hissed, his blue eyes focused on Chester. "That is the start of an honest to God freak out! Look at the way he's talking to himself. I'll bet we'd be just as nervous where he used to live, what with all those tornadoes."

"Poor bastard," Griff drawled, not taking his eyes off his cards. Casually, he presented his hand... winning the round by a landslide. A collective groan resounded from the other players as they threw down their own cards in disgust. Entirely satisfied by the outcome, Griff began shuffling the deck for a new game. One by one, the others glared at the reason why everyone had been so horribly distracted.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Harriet snarled as the zoot-suiter breezed past, yet again. She was officially at her wits end. Jumping to her feet, she snagged the prankster by the back of his jacket and frog-marched him toward their little group. Plopping him down in her old spot, she sweetly informed him, "Chester, be a good kid and play a round of poker. You'll feel better!" With that, she flounced off to gossip with a few of her fellow fashionista classmates.

In puzzled silence, Swindle stared down at the rough assemblage of chips, cards, and discarded organic cash. A muffled boom from outside their little underground enclosure had him bouncing to his feet like he was spring loaded. Ignoring the protests of the organics around him, he glared up at the featureless concrete ceiling up above. Well, maybe it wasn't quite as unadorned... Somehow, the organics had managed to stick small pieces of partially degraded paper products to the surface. Further analysis revealed a substance imbedded in the paper consisting of evaporated water and saliva. His holographic eyes widened and he shuddered. He'd had no idea this species of organic could spit that far! Then, just like a slap, reality reared it's ugly head. Footage filled his mind of missiles streaking like fireworks across the cloud strewn sky while gigantic combatants grappled with cataclysmic fury down bellow. It was fragging pandemonium up there! He stiffened as his remote scanners registered a missile coming in fast! The explosion that rocked the school also blew a sizable chunk out of the school parking lot and caused his holoform to fall to the ground. Outside, pieces of concrete and shards of metal rained down around his vehicle-mode and scorched his paint job.

Growling something unintelligible, Swindle tapped his fingers against the floor contemplatively. There had to be a method of getting out of this hole and up where the action was, and he cursed the stupid slagger that thought the high school would be a perfect location for a battle. This was his territory, frag-it! The next explosion shook the theater with cataclysmic force. That did it! Jumping to his holographic feet, he marched resolutely around, over, and (at one exasperating moment) through the milling Humans, until he reached his destination. Too bad the staircase was heavily guarded.

"Excuse me, son," an older man wearing a janitor's uniform called out over the din of the crowd. Climbing to his feet, he blocked the teenager in the loud zoot-suit before he'd gone up a single step. "I'm sorry, but you can't go out there right now. It isn't safe."

Staring in consternation, Swindle blurted out the first thing that entered his processor. "And being down here is?!" At the organic's easy-going shrug, the hologram stared. "But this is easily the most dangerous place to be during a battle. Don't you realize how easily the walls could get punched through, or penetrated with rockets, or a building collapse, or..."

"I know, I know," the janitor placated, waving off his protests with a cheerful smile. "It doesn't make sense, but those are the rules. The school doesn't have the money or the resources to evacuate everyone from the campus, but they need to look like they're doing something productive for these sorts of emergencies. If they don't, their state-wide funding will be cut off and they'll be in worse straits than they are now. This is just the best solution. So, just sit tight and pray. It's what I do." Ignoring the way the zoot-suiter's left eye was twitching, he went back to relaxing on the concrete steps, as if explosions weren't raining down from above.

_Is this entire species insane_, Swindle wondered to himself in exasperation as he went back to pacing the floor. Normally, he'd be climbing over half a dozen organic spawn in the endeavor. He was just grateful they seemed to recognize his mood and had made efforts to avoid him. A brief glance confirmed that the vast majority were huddled against the walls, their shadowy forms shapeless in the near darkness of the theater basement. Occasionally, a pair of disturbingly wet organic eyes would gleam at him in curiosity, only the swiftly look away. Then there was Cassidy and her micro-herd. It was just as he was passing by the quiet group of gamblers that a pale hand abruptly snagged his avatar's elbow.

"Chet, hold up," a voice whispered. "You're about to hyperventilate or something! Relax!"

Spinning around, it was to behold a thin, worried looking face. It took him a moment to recognize that the organic in front of him was actually Weasel. He'd recognize that stench anywhere. Absently, Swindle looked back at him as he echoed, "Hold up?" Dusky features abruptly sharpened into a rare frown. "What do you mean, 'hold up?' I've been held up for nearly an hour thanks to this... this..." Throwing his holographic arms into the air, he let out a wordless snarl.

"Whoa, man," Weasel placated hurriedly. "Calm down before the teachers decide to dog-pile you. Now, slowly, tell me what your problem is. Is it the explosions? The gunfire? I'm only trying to help."

"My problem," Swindle gritted out. "Is that I need to get out there, and no-one will let me leave this sorry excuse for a bomb shelter!"

"But what could you possibly want out there?" Weasel blinked in consternation at the thought. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd kill to see some of those big robots in action, but I don't see why you have to get out there... Unless..." The sneak-thief's eyes widened in sudden realization before a sympathetic expression abruptly suffused his features. Casting a hurried glance back at the others, he grabbed Chester's shoulder and pushed him further out of earshot. "Dude, why didn't yah tell me you have to use the bathroom?!"

"Have to use the...?" Then he realized what the blond had assumed and latched onto it! "Well, I didn't want to just say it. It is a somewhat embarrassing subject..."

Rolling his eyes, Weasel mumbled, "Oh, great, another one. It's bad enough Cassidy has that kind of weird hang-up. Okay, look! I'll help sneak out of here to the nearest restroom. Fact is, I've wanted to see one of these robot battles up close for a long time." Icy blue eyes glanced around to make sure there weren't any witnesses before his jerked his head to the left. "Come on. First thing's first, you need to get better camouflage." One holographic eyebrow raised, Swindle followed. When it came right down to it, it was ridiculously easy to slip away. After donning a ragged, moth-eaten piece of old curtain left over from a past play production, the pair casually strolled over to the stairs. "The key to it," the blond had whispered as they shuffled around the crowd, "Is yah just act like yah belong there. People usually just assume yah know what you're talking about and leave yah alone." Just wait for one moment of distraction, and hey, presto! They were out the door! Well... maybe it was a little more complicated than that...

Wincing to himself, Swindle scooted his holographic butt along filthy concrete walls and tried to ignore the elbow jabs, squeezing, and accidental foot stomping inherent with sneaking along a crowded stairway. Weasel was having absolutely no problem. Weaving in and out of the crowds like a fish through water, he traveled up the stairs with ease. There was one harrowing moment when the blond was just easing open the door and he was sure they had been noticed. The next, they were out into the back-stage area of the theater! A near soundless walk to the side exit and he was free! Casting his head back, he basked in his first organic free moment in the past seven hours... A distinct scent of mold and human body odor hit wafted off of the blond's coat, causing him to choke. Well, almost organic free...

"Okay, the nearest restroom is over there," Weasel explained, not knowing about the stench ridden impression he was giving his companion. He pointed at a nearby building only to falter as he realized that it currently looked as if a bomb had gone off inside it. "Or... not." Chewing his thumbnail, he glanced around. "That means the next nearest one is over near the library." Turning smartly, he indicated an open area nearby a concrete stage. It had originally been meant as a grand entrance into the old library building, but then the school had gotten a government grant back about fifty years ago and decided to build another one. Now the old library building sat empty, waiting for a new purpose... or a decent sized wrecking ball. 

"That's great, Weaz," Swindle muttered, his attention focused on an entirely different matter. Like the Cybertronian bar-brawl happening just around the corner. He flinched out of sight as the motorcycle Autobot performed an elaborate back-flip to evade incoming gunfire. The last thing he needed was to get a direct scan from Prowl of all mechs! Hidden away in the shadows, he mused, _Now, how do I involve myself without revealing my presence? It's bad enough I've got a fleshling around to witness my non-organic state... Sigh. It looks like I'll have to dispose of the Human..._

"Hey, Chet," Weasel interrupted with a cheerful grin. "I'm going to go get snacks from the vending machine." He pointed at the dispenser in question, which happened to be on the other side of a bullet-strewn wasteland. "Yah want anything?"

His pixilated eyes flashed purple, the beginnings of an idea began even as he distractedly waved the organic off. "Nah," he muttered distractedly, his processor focused entirely on the battle. "I'm good." If he just timed it right...

Shrugging his shoulders in easygoing acceptance, the blond jogged out into the open to accuire his food of choice. 'Let's see,' Weasel thought, silently perusing the choices. Meanwhile, gunfire gouged the concrete inches away from where he stood. His eyes lit up in sudden delight. 'Yes! No salt, no butter popcorn, and a bottle of fizzy-water! I'm set!' Bouncing on his toes, he waited impatiently for the health-food to topple into the waiting bin. Come on! He wanted to see the action! A rocket went off overhead, swiftly followed by a fighter jet roaring past. This was followed by a metallic screech of pain. "Finally," the teenager mumbled to himself as the food fell into his waiting hands. Then, popping the bottle and taking a swig, he walked back toward the overhang... just as a massive metal food came down on the snack-dispenser with the power of a pile-driver. Leisurely meandering around a mega-pothole, he also unknowingly missed another pede crashing to the ground behind him. This was mostly because he was entirely focused on opening his popcorn bag without having it spill all over the place. Once he was safely under the overhang again, he wondered, "Hey, Chet, what are yah still doing here? Didn't yah have to use the bathroom?"

Irritated over being interrupted, Swindle countered with, "Weren't you going for snacks?"

"Snacks?" Weasel stared at him in consternation before glaring back in hurt surprise. "You said yah didn't want any! And I'm not sharing my no-salt popcorn, no matter how hungry yah are!" Misinterpreting the zoot-suiter's return scowl, the blond sighed. "Oh, alright! I'll get yah something to eat..." Then he got a good look at the vending machine, or what was left of it. "Oops! Never mind."

Clearing his throat, Swindle then did his best to look contrite. "No," he apologetically smiled. "Sorry, Weaz. I'm more interested in other matters of an er... personal nature. Wish me luck?"

"Sure," Weasel agreed, distracted by ricocheting gunfire. "Go use the bathroom... It's just too bad there's a big useless building in the way, huh?" His eyes then lit up in sudden excitement. Whipping an arm out, he grabbed the zoot-suiter's coat sleeve and exclaimed, "Chester, that's brilliant!"

"What?" Jerked to a halt, he scowled up at the blond in consternation. He'd seen the perfect opportunity to sneak out of view, too. "Weasel, what are you trying to...?!"

"Wait for it," the blond murmured, his pale blue eyes focused on the courtyard. Prowl was staggering for a moment, doing his level best to fend off the two Decepticon jets that were harrying him like a pair of mocking-birds pestering a cat. He staggered unsteadily backwards. "Just a little further," Weasel mumbled. "Come on... You can do it..." Zooming around, one of them managed to shoot out one of the motorcycle's knee-plates. The Autobot wobbled. Drawing out a throwing star, he was about to launch it, only to have a missile explode before he had the chance.

Letting out a shout the cyber-ninja fell to the ground, just barely missing the empty building. Not even a window cracked. "Oh, so close! Want to place bets over which buildings will get destroyed in the fight? Because you know it would be, like, ten times more useful if they obliterated the things nobody wanted anymore... Chester? Hey, where did he go?" Looking around for his friend, he failed to notice the watch that had been hidden carefully in an alcove just beyond the bramble bushes. He then shrugged. The guy probably went to use the bathroom, like he said he would. Instead, the teenager wandered off to find a better vantage point for the fight.

_Meanwhile, in the school parking lot..._

It had been easy to transform without anyone noticing. After all, two Decepticon jets engaged in combat against a techno-ninja could be very distracting. Swindle still did his best to remain largely unnoticeable as he crept back into campus in his root-mode. Large purple optics took in the fight, noticing weaknesses, fighting forms, and weaponry with one glance. _That poor mech doesn't look like he'll last much longer, _he reflected, absently. Then he mentally shrugged. _Oh, well._ He noticed Prowl's movements that were a tad too sluggish and his aim seemed to be off. Sure enough... The Autobot let out an abrupt, pained yell as he was forced down once more. Shaking his head ruefully, he concentrated on other matters.

_Starscream_, Swindle mused, his optics narrowed thoughtfully as he watched one of the jets transform into a tall thin mechanoid. There were very few Seeker class models in operation, and only one on Earth as far as his sources knew. He adjusted his sales-technique accordingly. _ All that's left now is discovering who the mystery-mech is that's working with him._ Purple optics lazily rose to observe the jet who was currently dive-bombing toward the Autobot. Transforming mid-fall, he performed a complicated Ariel flip and slammed both pedes into Prowl's unprotected flank. The tactician was down for the count with a pained groan. That wasn't what caught the huckster's attention, though. It was the fact that, for all intents and purposes, the second Seeker was completely identical to the first one. Surprise flashed across his features.

Messages warning of an impeding processor-crash ran past his vision and he hurried to correct the logic glitch before it could debilitate him any further. Adjusting his sensors out of the normal visual range (which was a real pain), he then squinted at the pair of Seekers in consternation. One Starscream was painted blue, the other was painted purple. This was enough to rule out the possibility of a glitch and convinced his core not to shut down as a means of protecting itself. Scowling at the lingering ache afflicting his helm, he began pondering the reason behind this conundrum. _So, there are two different mechs that are exactly alike and resemble an old colleague, _he reflected as he rubbed his chin contemplatively._ How in the known universe...?!_ His optics widened as the obvious answer presented itself, along with half a dozen less likely alternate possibilities. _Well, it wouldn't be the first time old 'Screamer pulled the mad-scientist card... but cloning?!_ Another round of gunfire brutally struck the prone Autobot before he could get up again. Swindle smiled at the suddenly obvious youthful enthusiasm. _Aww, how adorable! They might look full grown, but I can recognize sparklings playing together when I see it._ He made a mental note to visit their creator in the future. _No doubt, the Seeker will be getting desperate for supplies with all those extra mouths to feed, and 'Papa-Star' has such a nice ring to it, too. _

"I told you to stop interfering," one jet screeched, scowling imperiously. Propping his servos on his hips, he glared over at his twin.

"Sorry, T.C., sorry," the other one warbled pathetically. "It just looked like he was planning on letting loose with one of those throwing-stars and... I'M SORRY!" Ducking a swipe, the second Seeker gazed fearfully at his angry counterpart.

"Stop calling me that annoying nickname, oaf," the first jet scowled back. "It's Thundercracker... Ugh, let's just find that disgusting little fleshling and be done with this. What Lord Starscream wants with such a pathetic creature is beyond me!" Turning his head, he scanned their surroundings. 

"Because the Autobots have adopted it as a pet," the second Seeker supplied, helpfully. "T.C..." A warning glare had him swiftly backtracking, his servo's upraised an a nervous smile flickering across his face-plates. "I mean, Thundercracker, remind me again, what does the fleshling look like?"

"Gold toned skin, yellow toned eyes, and dark yellow head-fur," the other reminded him for the umpteenth time as he continued to scan. Then he growled. "Oh, terrific. Skywarp, they're all underground!" He petulantly stomped one thruster heeled pede into the Earth hard enough to leave a crater. "I do not want to dig in the dirt like some sort of pathetic ground-pounder!"

"Maybe we could blast them out," Skywarp helpfully suggested. "It would be less time consuming..."

To Swindle's consternation, Thundercracker actually seemed to be considering the idea. Wincing at the thought of a very good money-making scheme going up in smoke thanks to the destructive tendencies of a few childish younglings, the huckster cast his mind around for an idea... a plan... a trick...Something! He hated fighting unless it was absolutely necessary, and likewise was loath use most of his own weaponry due to the high production costs... That's when he saw it: the mud-pit.

Even now, that monstrosity of nature remained unnoticed beneath the grass. It extended to cover nearly the entire field and was easily deep enough to swallow a mech whole. He could well remember how that clay-like mixture had felt on his avatar, as well as how disgusting and sticky it was... A gradual smile stretched across his face-plates as the beginnings of a truly amusing idea began to form. One of the things he did with any alien culture he set up shop with was look into their mythology, literature, and history, particularly the stories about tricksters. Now, as he gazed at that truly disgusting muck pile nearby, he was strongly reminded of a controversial fairytale about a rabbit, a bear, a fox, and a tar-baby...

"Very well," Thundercracker sneered at his counterpart. "We shall use laser-cutters to break through. Then we shall..."

"My friends," a sudden smooth as oil voice intruded. Swindle barely paused as the two clones he was a addressing abruptly spun around and aimed null-rays at his head. Instead, he smiled wider. "Perhaps I may be of assistance? It seems the two of you are in a quandary."

"None of your concern," Thundercracker sneered after assessing that the smaller mech wasn't, in fact, Autobot reinforcements. It was a Decepticon. Tilting his helm snobbishly, he examined the diminutive grounder condescendingly. He didn't even appear to be a combat model! Clearly, therefore, the mech was beneath his notice. "Whoever you are, leave us be."

"Where are my manners? Name's Swindle," he chuckled, nonchalantly polishing a smudge off his windshield decorated chest. "As far as my reasoning is concerned, the two of you are potential customers, and I always have time for that. Good fighting technique by the way..."

Skywarp sharply interrupted, "What are you dong here?" Slightly suspicious, the purple seeker gave the huckster a fearful glance. As the resident paranoid, the purple Seeker was the most... cautious of the group. Where his fellow clones saw easy conquests, glorious battles, and stunning victories, he saw enemy diversions, deadly encounters, and the potential for heavy casualties. The others considered him to be a coward but he wasn't. He was just more... realistic. Yes, he attacked when ordered, he just preferred a more indirect path to victory. This was why he noticed things about this new mech that Thundercracker might have overlooked. Multiple hatches and pop-up drawers littered the small Decepticon's frame, places where all kinds of weaponry could spring into the open at a moments notice.

"Why, to offer my considerable expertise, of course," Swindle modestly volunteered. "I couldn't help but overhear the problem the two of you are having with finding an organic. Wouldn't it be far easier for you to acquire one from the surface instead of burrowing into the messy ground? Take this one for example. He has yellow coloration in his keratin follicles, and eyes in a very becoming shade of blue." As one, all three mechs turned their heads to regard Weasel.

Oblivious to whatever they were talking about in that weird warbling language of there's, the blond stared up at the behemoth aliens with an awed expression. Weasel was close enough to spit at them! Not that he would, because any kind of robot battle was awesome! A handful of popcorn distractedly made it's way into his mouth. Pale blue eyes flickered from Swindle, to Thundercracker, and then to Skywarp, before starting over again. Even the fact that none of it was in English didn't dampen the fact that this was the beginning of a killer stand-off. He absently began chewing, still craning his neck as he looked from one potential combatant to another. Only one thought dominated his brain at that exact moment: Cool!

Incredulously, Skywarp wondered out loud, "You're actually suggesting that... th-this...?!" He involuntarily backed away from the Human in their midst. How had they not noticed? A scan provided ample proof that, not only was the fleshling the wrong gender, it also apparently didn't bath! His features twisted in disgust as a display of thousands of micro-organisms were proved to be dwelling on his garments, alone! "Yuck!"

Frankly, the two Seekers had been so wrapped up in the dilemma of digging out a nest of the fleshlings, that the sneak-thief had been completely ignored. Red optics blinked down at him in a scrutinizing fashion before Weasel was dismissed as unimportant. "No, he will not do," Thundercracker declared with a wave of one servo. "Starscream specifically requested an organic with yellow coloration throughout! He'd have our heads if we brought him anything else!"

"Alriiiight," Swindle drawled while rolling his optics. "Though I don't see how an all-gold fleshling would be better. They come a credit a dozen around here..." As it became obvious that the two Seekers had opted to ignore him, he changed tactics. "Might I interest you in specialized mining equipment? I hate to say it, but that underground hollow the organics are hiding in is extremely unstable. The least wrong move might cause the whole lot of them to be squished beyond use."

"Mind your own business," Thundercracker growled. He refused, simply REFUSED to admit that the ground-pounder might have a good idea. Oh, why was he constantly getting sent out on these retrieval missions? It was beneath his dignity!

"He might have a point," Skywarp warbled hesitantly. Truthfully, the thought had occurred to him as well. Thudercracker had just been in such a foul mood that he didn't want to risk it getting any worse by mentioning it. Scanning the underground structure proved that it was horribly brittle. Despite his warning, or maybe because of it, his fellow clone obstinately began clawing away huge chunks of earth. The purple mech eyed the theater as it began to shake. "Er, brother, that might be a bad idea..."

"Gotta admit," Swindle drawled, casually leaning over the feeble excavation. "I've got to agree with the youngling over here... What did you say your name was?"

"S-Skywarp," the purple mech stuttered before berating himself for talking to a stranger. He was just so nice! Not at all like his creator or the rest of his cloned family, which were increasing in number by leaps and bounds. Each day seemed to bring at least a dozen more siblings. More and more reason to be lost in the shuffle and forgotten. In some ways, it was nice. Getting noticed less meant Starscream was too distracted to berate him. Sadly, it also made it harder to find privacy or get help when he really needed it. Then his processor caught up with his vocals and he hastily backtracked. "I-I mean..."

"Don't tell him anything," Thundercracker ordered, glaring at his younger 'sibling' warningly. Skywarp cringed nervously in response. Grimacing, the blue Seeker lifted his optics skyward. How in the known universe had he been saddled with such a useless comrade? It boggled the processor! Looking down at his filth encrusted talons, he vented a put upon sigh. "Oh, get over here, and start digging! I grow weary of this activity!"

A subtle, crackling noise began as the excavation renewed. Swindle watched with wide optics as a long thin fracture began at basement level and slowly climbed toward the roof-line. He was no Constructicon, but even a fool could tell that the building couldn't take much more abuse. Hurriedly stepping forward, Swindle blurted, "If I may make a suggestion..."

Furiously polishing his horribly dirty talons, Thundercracker snapped, "No, you may not!"

"Yet, it's such a good idea," Swindle continued. "Wouldn't it be better to start your excavation on the other side? The ground is softer..." Both Seekers stared at him, startled.

Gazing at one another for a moment in disbelief, they then both focused on the sales-mech with narrow suspicion. Thundercracker at last drawled, "Why are you so eager to help us, grounder? What's in it for you?"

"What's in it for...?!" Swindle spluttered in mock insult before putting his servos on his hips. "I should think it would be obvious. We are all Decepticons here! That, and I happen to have some very nice mining equipment on sale!" With a flourish, he withdrew an excavation drill (only slightly used), and a hand-held earth-trawler. He smiled winningly. "Only ninteen-ninety-five for the pair of them! What do you say?"

Ten minutes later, both clones were in the midst of a... sticky situation. The surrounding landscape was a mess. Clumps of dirt coated trees, park benches, and buildings. Thundercracker and Skywarp looked even worse. Oh, yes, the soil on this side was softer! What he'd failed to mention was the fact that it was so soft, it was practically a liquid! Squinting through the perpetual cloud of filth and hiding a genuine smile of amusement behind a worried frown, Swindle inquired, "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"Yes, we are certain we don't need any of your 'help,' grounder," Thundercracker snarled. Lifting a servo, he wiped a gallon worth of filth from his face-plates. "Ugh! This drill is useless!"

"Well, I did offer to sell you the owners manual for a very reasonable surcharge," Swindle reminded them in chiding tones. A childish hiss of outrage was his answer. Rocking on his pedes, the sales-mech patiently waited through another round of industrial noise and flying mud. He'd found the perfect observation point for such an endeavor. Not too close to be clawed, just near enough to observe, and half a dozen trees in between to block the worst of the mud. An abrupt 'snerk' noise sounded, and any and all drilling suddenly stopped. This was followed by the outraged shriek of a Decepticon jet followed by a newly clogged earth-trawler that abruptly flew violently into the air. It landed with a crash to the huckster's left and he shook his head at the sight. They really should have taken his advice and bought owner's insurance.

"Get off me, you insufferable oaf," Thundercracker shrieked in acute embarrassment. The blue Seeker was no longer as pristine and sleek as he used to be. In fact, as of this moment, he looked to be more brownish-gray. Spitting some kind of organic plant matter out of his mouth, he shoved his duplicate roughly away. "I'll get out on my own. Ugh! My paint-job will be streaked for days..."

"Wait," Skywarp protested. "I believe that I can hear some sirens..."

"Who cares about measly organic vehicles?" Thundercracker aimed a swipe for his double only to pause and cant his head to the side. Thoughtfully, he adding, "Now that you mention it, I think I'm picking up that frequency as well."

Ducking his clones flailing fist with practiced ease, the purple mech whimpered, "Aren't those Autobot sirens?" At these words, all three Decepticons froze. Swindle, who had chosen to abandon the entertainment people watching, had begun picking over Prowl's stasis-locked form. Now he stood in tense silence as core programming rushed to the surface. An eery quietude fell over the campus as they listened. Gradually, a wailing noise drifted toward them on the breeze... and yes, it did sound like 'Bots. Complete pandemonium was now the order of the day! For one thing, it's awfully difficult for a Seeker to fly with clogged thrusters. The muffled explosion of backfiring jet-fuel on newly hardened clay was painful to hear. This was followed by clawing and kicking, snarling and hissing, as the two seekers tried and failed to escape the mud-pit. "Ow! Thundercracker, you elbowed me in the face!"

"Then don't stand so close, glitch," the blue Seeker snarled back. "Oof! This is all your fault!"

"They're getting closer," Skywarp yelped in abject terror, scrabbling faster. Mud flew! Unfortunately, instead of climbing out, they only dug themselves deeper. Abruptly slipping, he fell back hard, colliding with his blue clone. Both mechs went down with a painful crash. Still, the sirens grew louder! The sound rose to a resounding crescendo of approaching death in the purple jet's helm, growing with intensity until he couldn't think straight. That was when ancient programming that hadn't been seen since the great wars finally came into play in the poor Decepticon's helm. He teleported, and took Thundercracker with him.

The implosion of air collapsing in on itself was powerful enough to rip a few stray branches off the nearest trees and partially fill the mud-pit with a tsunami of fresh muck. It also effectively caught Swindle's attention. Abandoning the downed Autobot, the sales-mech edged near the gaping hole in the ground. His optics confirmed what his scans had already told him. Both clones were gone! For a long moment, the Decepticon puzzled over this intriguing mystery. Had they been transported? How? As he stood there in contemplative silence, a new sound invaded his audios... sirens. Casting one last regretful glance at Prowl's stasis-locked frame, he jumped up and ran. Grass and mud kicked up under his pedes, making him grimace. There was no helping it, though. He just barely ducked behind the theater building in time. Venting hard, he listened to the sound of transforming parts and the warble of Cybertronian voices.

"Out of my way," a grizzled, positively ancient set of vocals snarled. "I said move!"

"Ratchet," a younger, slightly worried voice intruded. "How bad is it?"

"Oh, my gosh," a small organic voice squeaked suddenly in English. "Prowl!"

"What part," the much older voice pleasantly began, suddenly switching to that same organic language. "Of out of my way," he continued, his words adopting a bitterly sarcastic edge. "Do You Glitches Not Understand?!"

"But I can help," the organic protested, sounding seven shades of indignant.

Cautiously, wary of any attention that might be drawn to him, the huckster peered around the gargoyle decorated roof-line of the theater. A group of Autobots crowded around the prone cyber-ninja with an organic in their midst. Ratchet, he recognized immediately. He was bound to, considering the fact that the old-mech had been foolish enough to give up his retirement savings for one of his deals. The others were familiar right down to their pet Human! Their names just hadn't come out of the data files yet... and whoops! Swindle ducked back out of sight just as one of them was lifting his helm.

"Sari," Bulkead hesitantly began after a moment. "What are those things?" 

Giving up on the chance to use her key, Sari stepped away from the others. "Huh," she wondered, jogging over to them, "What are what things?" Tilting her head, she squinted up at the theater building's roof-line. "Oh, you mean those statues? They're gargoyles." She was about to add more, but Bumblebee beat her to it.

"Oh, I know all about those things," the scout exclaimed in snobbish tones. "They're matter-shifters. During the daytime, they're all solid and lifeless, but at night they turn into flight-capable fleshlings that fight crime!"

"Er... Bumblebee," Sari began, staring up at her guardian apprehensively. "Are you sure that's true?"

"Of course it is," the scout reassured her. "I saw it on television. Every-Bot knows they wouldn't let it hit the airwaves if it wasn't true!"

"Alright Sari," Ratchet grumbled, distracting the nine-year-old from a potentially entertaining discussion. "You can use your key on Prowl..." In Cybertronian, he muttered, "Primus knows what I'm even doing here if the All-spark heals every one of my fragging patients."

"Yay," the red-head giggled, dancing around in circles. Grinning from ear to ear, she eagerly raced up to the prone motorcycle's form.

"Heh, kids," Bumblebee muttered, smiling down at his organic in fond amusement. Then he frowned. Glancing up at Bulkhead, he wondered, "Why did you want to know about gargoyles, anyway?"

"Huh," Bulkhead rumbled, before abruptly looking sheepish. "Well, for a few seconds, I thought I saw one of them moving. Hah! Guess it's coming out of re-charge a little early!"

"You're serious," the scout exclaimed, instantly excited. "Really?!"

"Yeah, I think so," the larger mech replied, scratching the back of his helm self-consciously. He pointed a massive pincher claw toward one corner of the theater building's roof-line. With deep, shuddering steps, Bulkhead walked across the torn landscape and peered closely at the gargoyle in question. "It was this one!"

"Are you sure Bulkhead," the smaller mech scoffed after a moment of careful study. As the highest expert on all things of Earth, he had his standards to maintain. Reaching out with one servo, he gently touched the gargoyle's head. "It doesn't really seem that awake to me... Maybe you imagined it?"

Just around the corner of the building, Swindle cringed. He was close enough to feel their electromagnetic fields brush against his own! How they hadn't noticed his presence, he'd never know! A fight really wouldn't be within his best interests right now. Even the drawn intake of air to cool his rapidly overheating systems would be too loud. Mud smeared, he waited for the inevitable moment he would get caught... and he waited... and kept waiting. Were they blind?! Impossibly wide purple optics blinked in surprised alarm as the inane conversation continued barely five feet away. _They can't be serious_, he silently reflected. _Not even an Autobot could be that oblivious..._

_ "_Wow," Bulkhead rumbled in awed tones. "Do you feel that? He feels scared, even a little angry!"

Pedantically, Bumblebee explained, "They are a species of proud warriors It's only natural that the gargoyle would be feeling territorial."

"Nah," Bulkhead replied, shaking his head. "I mean that energy field he's giving off. Didn't know any organic species could do that!" With wide optics, he stared down at the small winged figure that was perched on the roof's edge.

"Guess you're right," Bee muttered after a moment's concentration. "Looks like I've got more research to do... On the Internet, I mean... Hah, hah. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, little guy!"

_They ARE that oblivious_, the 'Con-mech concluded, with a barely restrained sigh. As the discussion about all things gargoyle continued less than a cog's throw away, he considered other things, like a quick escape. Purple optics gazed sightlessly into the distance while he consulted his sight map. On the other side of the quad, beyond three low slung single story classroom buildings and half a dozen trees, was the parking lot. Not nearly enough cover for his tastes. Swindle weighed his options. The chances of getting out of this without being discovered were three-thousand seven-hundred and fifty to one! He grimaced at his other options. Negotiating didn't seem any more likely to succeed based on the locale, and surrender was the last thing he'd ever do! _Frag_, he reflected unhappily. _I'm going to have to fight again!_

His shoulders sagged at this unhappy realization. Here he was, covered in the filth, grime, and scars from one battle, and he was going to have to dive into another one directly afterwords! What's more, they'd see him! That would torpedo his upcoming sale faster than you could say 'Elite Guard.' Not for the first time, he wished he didn't have such easily recognizable features. In a bazaar, out on the trade circuit, or the odd commercial, his wide smile and pretty optics won scads of eager customers! It was just among bounty hunters and the odd soldier that things got problematic. The instant he was discovered, it would be next to impossible to acquire Cassidy. Oh, he knew. First, they would put her under total house arrest, then they would triple-guard the school. Autobots were ridiculously predictable that way. _ And it was such a good sale, too_, he mournfully reflected as he checked his arm cannon. Weapons systems warmed up as he took careful aim at the biggest threat. Bulkhead's helm came within range and the tip of his arm cannon began to glow a deep florescent orange. He jumped in sudden surprise when Bumblebee let out an abrupt girlish shriek.

"BULKHEAD," Bumblebee exclaimed in wild alarm. Falling to his knees, he stared down at the mortal remains of one dearly departed smashed statue. Frozen in mid snarl, with it's torso on one side and it's wings and tail on the other, the gargoyle stared lifelessly back. "You killed it!"

Equally panicked, Bulkhead exclaimed, "I didn't mean to!" Reaching down with one massive pincher claw, he gently prodded the shattered statuary. The slightest nudge caused it's wings to crumple to dust. He flinched back and gazed down at it worriedly. "Maybe we could glue it?"

"No, Bulks," Bumblebee sorrowfully advised as he patted his large friend on the shoulder. "Once they break apart... that's it. He'll never move again." 

In dismay, Bulkhead slumped his massive shoulders and rumbled a disheartened, "Oh." Neither one of them noticed the Decepticon tip-toeing across the quad, slipping around the Science wing, ducking past the girl's gym, and out of sight. They did notice something else, though.

"Ohhh," Prowl moaned, holding his aching helm. He sat up, only to waver and almost fall down. "Where am I?"

"Easy, Prowl," Ratchet advised, his voice raspy with concern. "Don't overtax your systems. Let yourself adjust, first."

"Prowl," Optimus declared, crouching down to one knee. "Can you tell us what happened? Who attacked you?"

"Oooh," Sari exclaimed, hopping up and down. "Was it Megatron?" Instantly enthused about the epic battle of cyber-ninja versus kill-crazy overlord, the nine-year-old began pantomiming some of the awesome moves. Performing a flying kick, she slipped and landed on her butt. "Oof! I'll bet you ripped him a new one and karate chopped em' like crazy!"

"Let the mech process at his own speed," Ratchet growled, glaring daggers at both Sari and Optimus. "If he tries to activate too many systems at once, he runs the risk of frying his processor. Then I'm in for a Pit of a repair session straightening everything out."

"Please, Prowl," Optimus prompted. "If there's anything you can recall, it would help..."

Silence ensued as the cyber-ninja cradled his aching helm. At last, he hesitantly began, "I was attacked by two Decepticon jets... And when they transformed... They were both Starscream!"

"Two Starscreams," Bumblebee burst out incredulously. "Man, one's bad enough, but two?!"

"That is why I was hesitant to speak," the tactician protested, glaring over at the yellow scout. All this shouting wasn't doing his aching helm any favors. A servo gently touched his shoulder causing Prowl to look up in surprise.

"Nonetheless, I value any insight you have to offer, old friend," Optimus Prime reassured him. Looking up, it was to view what used to be a beautiful high school campus. Now it was covered in laser fire, scars, and broken masonry. He frowned in grim contemplation. "No one can deny that a battle took place here."

"Eh, looks like a corrupted memory core to me," Ratchet concluded, tapping the back of Prowl's helm with his knuckles. "Something like that shouldn't be left alone or it will get ten times worse. Bulkhead! Quit breaking up the scenery and get the frag over here! We've got a mech down and I need help moving him!"

Looking up in stricken surprise, the Autobot protested, "What? But, Doc-Bot, what about the...?!" He gestured helplessly with his optics. In his cupped servos were the broken remains of one dearly departed gargoyle. At Ratchet's ornery glare, the large Autobot vented an unhappy sigh. "Alright," he softly rumbled. Carefully placing the shattered bits of statuary into an inner compartment, he silently vowed to give it a proper funeral later. Together, he and the medic hoisted a loudly protesting tactician off the ground and carried him away. None of them realized they had an audience.

With his avatar hidden in the deep shadows beneath a nearby roof overhang and his audios tuned to the faintest of words, Swindle watched. Wary dark purple eyes observed as Prowl was hauled off campus like so much scrap metal. He was about to slip away when the remaining Autobots abruptly did something unexpected.

"Bumblebee," Optimus called before the scout could race off. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"

Swindle frowned in concentration as the Prime's vocals softened to a barely discernible rumble. The smaller Autobot looked like he was going to protest whatever orders he was being given, only to smile as his organic let out an abrupt cheer of glee. Resignedly, the scout then nodded in agreement. Straining to listen in as Optimus voice softened to barely a low rumble, the huckster was unaware of the chaos that was creeping up behind him.

"CHESTER," a voice suddenly bellowed in his avatar's ear loudly enough to wake the dead. The next instant, an organic whirlwind slammed into him from behind and almost knocked him over.

"Gaah," Swindle yelped, twisting around. He just barely restrained himself from lashing out in a panic. At last, he reoriented himself to his surroundings. _What organic_, he mentally groused, _Would be crazy enough to...?!_ Dark pixilated eyes locked with laughter laced pale blue. Then the smell of baked mildew hit his sensors, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. "Ugh," he exclaimed. "Weasel, get off me!"

Quite abruptly, the sneak thief found himself getting dumped in the dirt. Not that he cared. "Oh, man," he exclaimed as he sat up. "I can't believe what I saw! The gunfire, the blasters, all those fists, and I'm pretty sure I saw a giant missile launcher at one point... And... and those huge winged guys throwing around that one skinny motorcycle dude! Cool!"

Still trying to focus on the semi-private conference between the Autobot leader and his scout, Swindle muttered, "Yeah, Weaz." The organic kept chattering. "I know, Weasel..." Now he was exclaiming over the shrapnel in reverent tones. Making an abortive shushing gesture, he grumbled, "Could you maybe keep it down a little?"

"...And then there was that other guy," the blond enthused, not seeming to notice. "The one with the big freaky purple eyes? I mean, they were cool, you know? But still, they looked really, really predatory like some kind of alien snake or something... Wouldn't want to mess with him, but apparently those two winged dudes didn't know that considering all the mud flying around. Too bad I lost sight of them right when the action got really good. Maybe you got a better view of it..."

"WEASEL," Swindle snarled, finally loosing his patience. Spinning around, he grasped a fistful of the organic's tee-shirt and glared at him. A new sound invaded his audios at that moment, making him pause. It was the familiar sound of transformation, followed by the squeal of tires on tarmac. Dropping the sneak-thief, he twisted around in surprise. The campus was empty. Quickly checking, first with satellites, then with internal sensors, he verified a stunning fact. He was now the only Cybertronian left on Campus. No guards, no annoying interlopers, no interference...

"Heeey," Weasel complained in hurt tones. "Are you ignoring me. Here I am, telling you about the most awesome robot fight in the history of forever, and you're..." He paused in his rant and gave the zoot-suiter a concerned look. "And, dude, what happened to you, anyway?"

"Life, Weaz," Swindle declared. Letting out an abrupt laugh, he clapped the scrawny organic on the shoulder. "What happened is life, and it's finally looking up."

Blinking owlishly back, Weasel looked as if he wanted to ask what he meant. Then he suddenly gave a start and looked around in alarm. An empty, scarred campus met his gaze. "Oh, man," the blond yelped. "We've got to get back before they give the all-clear! Come on!"

Amused, Swindle allowed the Human to drag him down to the underground depths of the theater building. All the while, Weasel chattered on and on about the 'Ultra-Cool Robot Battle.' He shook his head. It took everything in the Decepticon's willpower to casually skulk through the meandering crowd clogging the basement entrance. A genuine smile almost twitched to life over his practiced sale's-perfect grin. So he was enjoying himself, it was allowed. Ducking out of range of a few harried teachers, he unexpectedly felt a scrawny plaid covered arm drape across his back. "Man," Weasel crowed into his avatar's ear. "We have got to do that again! Talk about epic! Next time, I want to get some shrapnel souvenirs, maybe a few shell casings, and I definitely want to hunt up severed robot parts... Oh, hi Cass!"

Jerking his head up, Swindle regarded the organic in question. Cassidy did not look happy. In fact, if looks could kill... Exasperated, he wondered, W_hat the frag is bothering her now?_ Then he mentally rolled his optics. _Ugh, femmes! They're all alike!_ For one irrational moment, the huckster contemplated which excuses would placate her the best before mentally shaking himself. He wasn't a wet behind the sensors sparkling, he was a Decepticon with more than a million vorns on every organic here. Still, it wouldn't hurt to start off his working relationship with Cassidy on a more pleasant note. "Cass," he began with a practiced smile. "What a pleasant surprise..."

"Stow it," the brunet snapped, not bothering to look at him. She was too busy examining Weasel (a friend known far and wide for having fewer survival instincts than a lemming) for possible injuries. Brown eyes flickered over the sneak-thief's lanky body, checking for odd movements such as a hunched over spine, a limp or a gingerly held wrist or shoulder. Part of the problem of working with someone like Weaz was the fact that he'd sooner gouge out his own eyes than let anyone know he was hurt. At last deciding he was relatively unharmed, her gaze switched toward the zoot-suiter. He stood with the easy-going grace of a track runner, as if he anticipated getting chased down at any moment. Cassidy rolled her eyes. Knowing how he tended to start trouble, it was a wonder he didn't stand that way all the time! It was then that she realized that she was actually checking Chester of all people (the bane of her existence), to see if he needed any help! Recoiling in horror, she switched gears to instant anger. Raising her voice to a whispered scream, she demanded, "What in the world were you two thinking?! Yah could have been killed!"

Completely missing her point, Weasel enthused, "Oh, man, Cass, I know. Yah should have seen it! There were all these huge metal fists and ray guns and rockets!" He performed a wild football victory dance, only to pause as melancholy abruptly suffused his features. "I just wish I knew the language. It would've been cool to hear what the fight was all about..."

"One of them probably tried to steel another one's favorite toy," Cassidy drawled. "Then the first one wouldn't cooperate, and the rest picked sides depending on who they liked more." At Weasel's confused expression, she offered a sheepish looking shrug. "Come on, Weaz, they aren't exactly known for their maturity levels. Advanced doesn't equal adult. Now, let's get to class!"

Both of them missed the sour look a certain zoot-suiter was favoring them with. Swindle had been on cloud-nine about outwitting his opponents. Granted, they were freshly minted Seekers with less tactical knowledge than a pair of practice drones, but they were clones of Starscream! That had to count for something! And then Cassidy had provided that scathing... and okay, sadly accurate description. "Fragging femme," Swindle softly growled. "Reduced my best military experience to a tussle between sparklings. Ugh!"


	11. Chapter 11

Confidence Game

Chapter 11: Waterway To Go

By: Mooncrossed

_ Hi, everyone! Hope you are all having a wonderful summer. I would like to thank XxshadowfangxX (yeah, Bee is the expert of Cybertronian knowledge of the human race. We should probably start worrying. Grin), and to Noella50881 (Not the right kind of damage... Sigh. Unfortunately, all the worst classrooms remained in-tact. Glad you're enjoying the story.) I don't own Transformers, Murder She Wrote, Charley Chaplin, Grease, Sparklets, WiFi, Internet, or Cable TV. Now, on with the show! _

_Somewhere amidst the wreckage of Detroit High..._

"Please let the gym be destroyed," Weasel muttered fervently, his pale hands clasped together. Even with his eyes closed, he somehow managed to neatly sidestep three craters in the ground and a chunk of broken masonry sticking up out of the sidewalk like the worlds weirdest monument. The others followed with a somewhat quieter, more subdued air. "I don't ask yah for much, God. All I want is just a little destruction... Only enough to get out of ever having to run the mile again." Breaking off his prayers, he stared in goggle eyed disappointment before yelling melodramatically at the top of his lungs, "Nooooo!"

There, sitting as pretty as an advertising brochure, was the school gym. It was perfect. No cracked windows, no broken masonry... even the sidewalk leading up to the door was pristine. The only sign that anything of an alien nature had happened to it was the giant scorch mark blossoming out around the doorway. Nothing else, however, had been that lucky. Surrounding the building were the blasted remains of what looked like a nuclear disaster! Trees rested like so much broken kindling in a rough semi-circle around the structure and every bush and patch of lawn was an unhealthy brownish-yellow. Griff eyed the destruction with one raised eyebrow, noting with curiosity how the the burn mark on the door appeared to be on the opposite side of the explosion. Then he clapped the distraught blond on the shoulder and began steering him toward the buildings entrance. "C'mon Weaz," he sighed. "Phys-ed awaits."

"Bye guys," Cass called after them while shuffling her feet. Maintaining a false smile and friendly demeanor, she watched Griff and Weasel as they trudged through the cavernous gym doorway and out of sight. Taking a deep breath, the brunet resolutely turned a different direction and mumbled, "And now for my own trial by fire: Algebra." Waiting until Chester was distracted by something Iris was saying, the brunet silently slipped away. Should she be worried that she was becoming used to pulling Houdini's around the zoot-suiter? She'd known him for less than a week and could already pinpoint the best moment to escape his company. Once she was safely out of range, her steps slowed down to a snails crawl. Reluctantly Cassidy trudged her way toward math class, all the while wracking her brain for possible escape routes. 'It's ridiculous to make all of us go back to class when we only have fifteen minutes left,' she fumed, kicking at a fallen leaf. 'I mean, what's the point? To fill some useless quota?' Sadly, this was most likely the true reason. 'Stupid bureaucrats...and inconsiderate aliens. Why couldn't the robot fight have lasted a little longer?!' Glumly, she continued onward.

The truth was, Cassidy had a very good reason for avoiding sixth period... She hadn't done any of the homework. Of course, the reason why was a nightmarish doctor's exam at the robotic hands of a truly demented alien... But who would believe that?! Instead, she tried and failed to make up an explanation more believable than the truth. 'Sick Aunt,' she wondered before snorting in derision. 'Nah, already tried that excuse. Food poisoning? Nope. What about a surprise shortage of notebook paper in all the stores in Detroit?' Imagining Mr. Li's incredulous expression over that particular whopper of a lie made her laugh out loud. 'Okay, so, what else could I use?' Unfortunately, no matter how slowly she walked, she still arrived in front of the door leading to all things mathematical.

For a long moment, she stared at the impenetrable dull green door. A swift glance proved that the campus guard assigned to this side of the school was not only standing nearby, he was staring at her with suspicion filled eyes. Right... Sighing loudly, the brunet pushed the heavy barrier open. What she expected to see were thirty of her fellow classmates all eying her like a particularly interesting breed of mutated lizard. She'd imagined Mr. Li considering her with one eyebrow raised, before promptly requesting every piece of homework he'd ever assigned her over the course of the entire school year... in triplicate copies for his personal files, of course. Okay, maybe she was exaggerating a little, but could anyone blame her? The guy was like a machine. Preparing herself as if she was about to face down a firing squad, she cautiously peered inside. Unexpectedly, she found the teacher was already focused on a different target.

"This is psychotic," Chester exclaimed, sounding like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum. "I have to do the assignment over?! There's nothing wrong with it!"

Taking full advantage of the distraction to sneak into her chair unnoticed, Cassidy settled down to watch. Hey, entertainment happened so rarely, and the unflappable Chester J. Ivory loosing his cool was the funniest thing that had happened all week!

Not bothering to look up, Mr. Li replied, "And I reiterate, Mr. Ivory, your assignment is typed." He looked up to consider the zoot-suiter with an air of perfect dignity. "It is supposed to be hand-written."

Chester spluttered as he wordlessly tried to come up with a reliable counter argument. Several students snickered. That was the thing about Professor Li, nothing phased him. Cass supposed fighting in the last major war made a little thing like a pissed off teenager seem laughable by comparison. Finally, the zoot-suiter demanded, "What difference does it make?!"

"It doesn't show that you did the work," Professor Li replied calmly. At Chester's incredulous expression, he clarified. "You could have easily fed the information to a computer and typed the results, which is cheating." The teacher slid the typed assignment back. "Do it over again, hand written, and turn it in tomorrow." Adjusted his glasses, the older man went back to grading papers.

Fuming for a long moment, Swindle then turned sharply on his heal and marched back to his seat. Then he caught sight of the Human he'd been searching for and his entire demeanor changed. Really, he'd looked everywhere! It's like she had vanished off the face of the planet! "Cassidy," he exclaimed jovially, ignoring the half a dozen teenagers that instinctively looked up at their shared name. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Brightening into a face breaking grin, he practically bounced his way to her side. "I'm telling you, you are one difficult girl to keep track of! How do you keep slipping past me? I mean, I could almost swear you're wearing some kind of advanced cloaking technology, or something... Cass?" He squinted in confusion, even as he removed the sunglasses from his holoform's face and peered closer. "Kiddo, why are you crawling around on the floor?"

Frantically ducking down behind her desk, Cassidy hoped and prayed that Mr. Li had magically gone deaf... or suddenly come down with amnesia! That solution would work, too! All the while, she shook her head, made slashing motions, hissed pseudo commands, and did everything humanly possible to try to convince the loudmouth in the chair in front of her to kindly shut up! Nothing worked. As stubborn as a bloodhound, he refused to leave her alone! He even leaned down under the desk and 'helpfully' handed her the pencil she'd been planning on spending the rest of the period searching for. Grabbing a fistful of his reflective green tie, she jerked him forward and hissed, "Chester!"

"Ahem, Miss Nulte," the teacher pleasantly interrupted what was shaping up to be the world's first game of lethal charades. Cassidy winced. "So good of you to join us. I trust the assignment gave you no trouble?" Translation: get your butt up here and fork over the homework.

"Uh, s-sure," Cassidy stammered before dropping Chester's tie and pasting on a wide grin. "No trouble at all!" Silence followed. Squirming slightly, the brunet remained in her seat and did her level best to look like she didn't understand. It wasn't that difficult. She'd only had three cups of coffee that morning, barely enough to live on, let alone stay awake. Seconds ticked by slower and slower. One by one, teenagers turned to consider her... and now Mr. Li was doing that eyebrow raising thing. Her life sucked!

Observing her in his usual unemotional way, the teacher inquired, "Then would you please give me the assignment?" Another beat of silence followed in which Cassidy wracked her brains for an excuse, any excuse! She had to get out of this! Now Mr. Li's other eyebrow had risen, a sure sign he was on to her! Her life really sucked! Slowly, as if heading to her own execution, the brunet rose from her chair. Chester deserved fifteen straight hours of 'Murder She Wrote' episodes for this! And she could do it, too. Weasel owned all twelve seasons on blue-ray! It would be a cinch to acquire them. The zoot-suiter deserved the worst punishments she could legally inflict on him!

"Er... Do yah mean now?" Cassidy cast what she hoped was an innocent looking smile the teacher's way. "I mean, it's so much work, and I still need to arrange all of it into chronological order..." She made a show of shuffling a stack of dog-eared pages she'd borrowed from her friends during lunch. "It really is a mess." Another beat of silence follows her words, this one lasting longer. 'Will he buy it,' the brunet wondered. Noticing the open expression of disbelief Chester was giving her, she subtly slammed her foot into his ankle. 'More importantly, will the joker in the seat ahead of me leave me in peace, for once?'

"Very well," Mr. Li at last intoned, his expression once again studiously bland. "I will expect you to turn in your work, stapled and organized, at the end of class... Which is in five minutes." His pronouncement made, the teacher calmly returned to grading test scores.

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Cassidy plopped back down in her chair and began organizing the fake math assignments in as ditzy a manner as possible. 'The trick is,' the brunet absently reflected, 'To look on the verge of being scatter brained. If I act too much like Charley Chaplain, I run the risk of being found out.' Thankfully, by this point, most of her fellow classmates had gone back to their own business... Most of them. Did Chester have to lean in that close?! Flicking a warning glare up toward the zoot-suiter who was looming over her head like a vulture, she put a page full of sloppily drawn doodles over the top of an old paper of English word definitions. All the while, his dusky face continued to stare at her as if she was the most fascinating object on the planet. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she hissed softly, "What?"

Casually, as if discussing the perpetually rainy weather outside, Chester replied, ""Oh, I'm just wondering why you're organizing pages full of..." An organic hand unexpectedly clapped over his mouth, making him snort in surprise. Dark glasses slid down the zoot-suiter's nose to reveal a potent glare.

"Don't finish that sentence," the brunet growled in menacing tones, glowering just as fiercely back at him. A swift glance proved that one of the nerds was distracting the teacher with an advanced algebra problem. So far, Mr. Li hadn't noticed a thing. Slowly, fully prepared to murder Chester if he so much as made a peep, she removed her palm from his mouth. It was just like opening Pandora's box.

"Do you mind," he snarled in low tones. "Every time I attempt to have a pleasant conversation with you, I get interrupted, or you've suddenly left, or I get insulted! Here I've been a perfect gentleman from the very beginning..."

Cassidy barely choked back a laugh at that one. Instead, she focused on far more intelligent activities... like doodling. It was one of her less violent coping mechanisms. She was just adding the finishing touches on her picture of Chester getting launched at high speed out of a cannon, when a throat cleared above their heads. Instant silence fell over the two of them and they both looked up. Mr. Li stared down at them in chilly disapproval.

_Ten minutes later... _

A virtual flood of teenagers raced out the doors to freedom almost before the bell finished blaring. Then, with the slow trudge of defeat, Cassidy slowly followed. Detention was a given, along with the homework, and a firm reprimand. Of course, it stood to reason that Chester would only get a warning for his bad behavior. The lucky bastard seemed to coast through life without a care in the world. At the scuff of patent leather shoes hitting tarmac, the brunet favored him with a particularly molten glare. In low, gravelly tones, she warned him, "Don't follow me."

Hesitating for half a step, Chester studied her expression with a truly contrite looking frown. 'Unbelievable,' the brunet mused in stunned disbelief. 'Could he actually regret ratting me out?' Then she noticed the sly twinkle hidden in his regretful gaze, the slightly over the top frown on his face, and the eager little shuffle he made just as he opened his mouth. The real give away, though, was when his left ring finger twitched. He was lying. She recognized that move from the poker game in the basement. Her face twisted into a scowl. Before she could do something she'd most likely get expelled for... and yes, punching him in the nose within full view of the math teacher was one of those things, Cassidy stomped away. Thankfully, the zoot-suiter had finally gotten the message and wasn't chasing after her. 'If I have to deal with one more annoying, attention seeking jerk, I'll...'

"Hey, Cassie," a sudden jovial voice shouted out.

About to cross the street, Cassidy froze in her tracks and turned her head. Others sharing that particular moniker also looked up... and couldn't stop staring. Parked on the curb was a little yellow compact car with black racing stripes. Standing in the front passenger seat was a small red-headed girl, grinning and waving enthusiastically. This was normal. Students without a vehicle to call their own regularly got picked up by their parents. Still others were allowed to use the family car, provided they retrieved their younger siblings from school as well. What wasn't normal was the fact that a giant mechanical arm was sticking out of the side of the car... and it was also waving. Cass stared at them for half a heartbeat. Turning, she resolutely marched away. The loud twist and squeal of a thousand car parts heralded Bumblebee's transformation, making her move faster.

"Aww, Cassie," the scout pleaded from somewhere near the treetops. The thud of a three ton robot falling to it's knees shook the Earth, followed by the ka-chunk, ka-chunk noise as he proceeded to crawl after her. "Don't be that way! I swear it won't be as bad as last time!"

"You're right," the brunet drawled, not bothering to look back. "It will probably be worse." A thought occurred to her and she glanced back at her odd travel companion. By the way, where's Mr. Psyc... I mean Prowl?" She plastered on a wide smile at Bumblebee's confused expression. Turning swiftly to avoid being questioned on her favorite pet-name for the robot who was always attempting to murder her, she considered their surroundings. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small pair of ridiculously adorable pigtails bobbing along next to her. Cassidy winced. With a sigh, she shouldered her books and sent a warning glare at some of her more malicious classmates. A number of them didn't have any problems picking on a little kid for entertainment.

"Oh, well," Bumblebee paused and sheepishly sat back on his heals. "That's kind of why we're here. Prowl got hurt in the last battle..." The brunet froze in her tracks at the news, and he immediately rushed to reassure her. "Don't worry, though. Doc-Bot is fixing him up even as we speak. I'm sure he'll be back to normal in no time! Right now, I'm your main ride!"

"Believe me when I say this, Hon," Cassidy exclaimed, fighting back a gleeful smile. "I'm perfectly alright with him staying right where he is! If Ratchet says there's something wrong, then I trust his judgment. Prowl could take a vacation, even! The longer, the better!"

While this conversation continued, Sari stared at the world around her in open-mouthed wonder. Big brown eyes took in everything from the rust stained drinking fountains to the whitewashed lockers, as if she was visiting an amusement park. It was just like in the movies! Over there, a group of cheerleaders practiced their acrobatics! Ooh! And over here was a big group of tough guys straight out of that musical 'Grease!' Everywhere, big kids looked up and stared at them. Jaws dropped and crowds gathered to witness the weirdest parade in the history of Detroit High! Yay, she was the center of attention and obviously very popular. The nine-year-old was on cloud nine!

Deftly steering Sari around a broken bottle that hadn't quite made it into a nearby trash-can, Cassidy aimed another warning glare at the hundred-plus teenagers that were still gawking. Most people were decent. Let her reiterate, 'most' of them. Unfortunately, there were always a few of the more dangerous types to contend with. It was bad enough that she was a target. There was no way she was dragging a kid into this. As it was, she could guarantee tomorrow would be a fun filled school experience of put-downs, 'accidental' injuries, and ambush encounters, thanks to the giant robot that wouldn't quit following her! A giant sized black painted servo abruptly landed in front of her with a clang, blocking her from moving forward. She bit back a sigh as she slowed to a stop.

As routes went, the path she was about to take wasn't the best. Traveling straight through the the bad side of town, it journeyed past the police station, and then finally arrived home. Not a secret alien base, her house! It had been nearly a month since she'd seen her parents without the intrusion of the Feds or the media. She'd been planning on sneaking off for a while now, she just hadn't had an opportunity. Now that Prowl was out of the picture, she intended to take full advantage of it! All she had to do was slip out of Bumbles' company, how hard could it be? Confronted with the cold reality of a robotic palm the size of a large sofa, she began re-evaluating her strategy.

Since it was somewhat difficult to leap-frog over a giant metal hand while holding a giant pile of books, she reluctantly turned her head. A huge mechanical face with dewy baby blue optics hovered half a foot away from her. "Bumbles," Cassidy began. "Look, I realize yah want to hang out, but now isn't really a good time..."

"Come on, Cass," Sari exclaimed, tugging at her tee-shirt. "We were going to go out for ice-cream, and we can't go anywhere if you don't come with us! Optimus said so! Pleeeease?"

Resisting the cuteness through sheer strength of will, Cassidy shook her head. "We were banned from the Plaza Shopping Center after Bumbles rammed his head through my boss's office window," she drawled. "Remember?"

"There are other ice-cream shops around," Sari protested. Keeping a firm hold on the older girl's tee-shirt, she gazed around. This wouldn't be her last trip to a real high-school. At least, not if she had anything to say about it! Still, she realized that this brief moment needed to be savored. Scuffing her boot against an old dried up piece of gum spot-welded to the sidewalk, she then glanced up. Gray clouds and the first humid raindrops of a typical Detroit sky greeted her eyes. Trees swayed in the wind and grass rested in marshy patches upon the lawn. By this point, the crowd of teenagers (absolute giants by the nine-year-old's standards), had gathered around them in the hundreds to observe their obvious popularity. Cool!

"Yeah," Cassidy grumbled, doing her best to minimize the rain exposure to her hair. "Other shopping centers we can be banned from, you mean." The only reason she wasn't getting hassled right now was the giant robot huddled around them like a massive mechanical cat. Tomorrow, she knew, was going to be a different story. A hot and heavy sigh from their mechanical companion jarred her from her musings. Turning her head, it was to see tearful baby blue optics giving her a kicked puppy impersonation. He even warbled! Then, with another heartbroken sigh, the robot folded down into himself until he was nothing but a little compact car... An extremely depressed little compact car! 'Oooh, he's good,' she reflected, shaking her head in a mixture of admiration and annoyed amusement. 'Bumbles knows how to tug at the heartstrings just enough to hurt...' Sticky nine-year-old hands abruptly tugged on her tee-shirt almost hard enough to rip it.

"Grrrr, come on," Sari whined, reaching the end of her patience. Digging her yellow go-go boots into the cracked sidewalk, she pulled on the older girl's tee-shirt with all her strength. "Who could say no to ice-cream!?" Bumblebee, meanwhile, had decided to drive off across the school's front lawn leaving gouges in his wake. That was when a certain someone abruptly noticed them.

She was a matronly individual wearing a perfectly pressed business dress and high heels. Cassidy winced. Vice-Principle Rowcliff did not look happy to see her. The honk of a car horn out by the science building was her first clue about what the grouchy woman might want to talk about. Well, it was technically okay for the aliens to come on campus after school hours... But at the same time, Bumbles' wasn't really being campus friendly to the local vegetation. Casually, she weighed the odds on whether or not the woman would throw the book at them or let it go with an hour long rant. Brown eyes took in the older woman's stance, from her barely repressed scowl to the quick step march of her high-heeled shoes. Odds were about fifty-fifty.

Movement fluttered to life in her peripheral vision and she cringed. It was something orange... something chaotically, headache inducing, neon orange... Already dreading the next upcoming prank Chester no doubt was about to play on her, Cassidy glanced around nervously for an easy escape. The harsh click-clack of high-heels on concrete reminded her of her other problem: Vice-Principle Rowcliffe. Shifting, first one direction toward a quickly approaching prankster, then the other toward a seriously ticked off academic official, the brunet weighed her options. She nibbled her lower lip. Obviously, there was only one choice.

"Changed my mind," Cassidy blurted out. Snatching up one of Sari's chocolate smeared hands and dragging her along behind, she dove onto Bumblebee's interior. He actually yelped when she slammed his door shut. Fearfully looking out the window, she shrieked, "DRIVE!"

Bee didn't need any further encouragement. Mud spraying everywhere beneath spinning tires, the compact car took off like rabid dogs were chasing him... or Ratchet. Either one was probably applicable depending on how angry the medic was at any given time. Swindle slowed to a stop as his sensors finally registered that that odd signal that had been buzzing for attention on his HUD had actually been an Autobot. _Of all the rotten luck_, he mournfully reflected, his holoform slumping in disappointment. _So, that's what Prime was telling him earlier. Sigh._ He was just contemplating chasing the scout down and disabling him when a message appeared on his in-box. With his current sales-venture in full operation, he'd have put it on his to do list... yet the name made him hesitate. Slipping behind some buildings, he shut off his holoform, pulled his vehicular form out of the parking lot, and left. It wouldn't do to keep Megatron waiting.

Nearly an hour later, he finally arrived at the underground tunnel system on the outskirts of the city. Swindle drove into the near darkness of the Decepticon's subterranean base in a sour mood. The drive had not been pleasant. On top of an already full workload, having his services demanded from a military overlord in hiding had not been welcome. Only the facts that Megatron was A: rich, and B: more than willing to buy his highest credit items, were enough to drag him away from his work. _But I'm finally making headway, frag-it! I've successfully infiltrated the group, I'm practically best friends with Weasel... So, why is my progress with Cassidy is almost non-existent? _As he drove the endless miles of tunnel systems toward his goal, the jeep contemplated that problem. _For some reason, she still doesn't like me... but I don't see why not._ _I'm fun, trustworthy, extremely humble, and devastatingly handsome (for a squishy). She should be falling at my pixilated feet in worship. Why isn't she?_ He was just deciding that he might need to tweak his avatar's programming again when his sensor system pinged.

It was a quiet, tell-tale noise, one he recognized immediately: the sound of a sonic cannon

powering up. Turning, a smile on his face-plates (and a force-field ready to switch on at a moments notice), Swindle exclaimed, "Why, hello there! Soundwave, is it? I realize we've never met, but I must say, you've really made headlines. Barely an orn old and you're already Megaron's third in command! Could I interest you in acquiring thicker armor plating? They're a cinch to install and have a..."

"Swindle," the telepath intoned, interrupting what was sure to be an epic sales-spiel. "Follow." The order given, Soundwave turned and walked away.

After a moments hesitation, the sales-mech obeyed. "You know, I couldn't help noticing the décor around here," Swindle conversationally began. "Nice touch, incorporating the stalagmites as camera sensor mounts, by the way. But I was wondering, have you considered motion sensitive automated weaponry? I could easily install a few at key points around the entrance, designed to shut down if a known soldier enters, of course..."

"Lord Megatron," Soundwave intoned, stopping. Gesturing with the slightest tilt of deference toward his commanding officer, he then raised on arm stiffly toward the somewhat jittery sales-mech. "Swindle."

"Yes, Soundwave," the Decepticon ensconced on his throne of steel and living rock intoned. Malevolent red eyes studied the merchant from helm to pede. Then, still keeping Swindle in his peripheral vision, he turned his gaze toward the telepath. "You may leave us. Swindle and I have a business matter to discuss."

"Wordlessly, Soundwave nodded and left. At the last second, however, he cast a penetratingly curious look toward Swindle. Then he was gone, vanished into the depths of the Decepticon's underground base. He would reappear when Megatron required his presence without even being called.

_Meanwhile, on the other side of town..._

Cassidy stiffened as the next pop-tune assaulted her eardrums, one with a ukelele and an electric keyboard playing in the background. Bumblebee and Sari gleefully joined in for the chorus. They'd decided to take a 'shortcut' to get to the ice-cream parlor, which explained why they had been stuck in a traffic jam for the past three hours. A new sensation was slowly making it's way through her system, one which was rapidly becoming more urgent. "Um, Bumbles," the brunet hesitantly began. "Not that this isn't fun, but I kind of need to get to use an... er... powder room? Soon, please?"

"Aw maaaan," the compact car whined as he turned the corner. Up ahead the traffic jam continued, extending for at least another mile. Slowly, with his tires slamming down heavily over several speed bumps, Bumblebee ground to a halt. "I hate stop and go traffic... And why do you need to find a powder room? I've got all the firepower we need right here! Besides, gunpowder is really over-rated compared to a particle beam weapon!"

"Bumblebee," Sari groaned, thankfully deciding to turn off the music. "She means..." Here, the red-head leaned in extra close to his front console and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as she continued. Silence ensued. At last, satisfied that she'd explained things plainly enough, the nine-year-old sat back in her chair and waited.

For all of a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Bumblebee's search engine finished looking up the meaning to all of those strange words and he leaped into the air like a startled rabbit. "Oh," he exclaimed in surprise. "You mean you need to lubricate!"

"Yeah," Cassidy agreed, her features a distinct shade of embarrassed pink. "I need to... er, yeah! So, see yah!" The door she was in the midst of opening abruptly slammed shut before she could slip out the door.

"Wait a minute," Bee protested. Why are you leaving?"

"Maybe because you aren't?" Cassidy squirmed uncomfortably as she glanced around at the exact same four cars that had been virtually parked next to them since they had arrived. She could practically paint a picture of them. "Seriously, pal," she continued, casting a desperate glance at Bumblebee's lit radio console. "Yah really won't like my company if I have to stay here much longer."

Her eyes widening in disbelief, Sari wondered, "You have to go that bad?" A glance around confirmed that they were just as hopelessly stuck in traffic as before. Well... they'd moved eight inches forward. That had to count for something! Sitting up, she was suddenly all business. "Um, Bee? Is there any chance you could maybe transform? If you did that, we could just walk out of here! Or maybe... um..." She trailed off as the Detroit National Bank loomed into view. It had a giant two story fountain in front of it with lions, dolphins, and leaping fish carved into it's surface. The sound of running water rose to a deafening crescendo as they crept past one inch at a time. Cassidy looked like she was very uncomfortable, considering the way she was clutching her middle and grimacing.

"What Sari?" It took two more repetitions, each time with the red-head growing more shrill, and finally with Cass yelling before Bee understood their words. "Oh, that," the Autobot mumbled as he sheepishly rolled up his windows. "Prime kind of revoked that privilege... He didn't really like the whole shoulder riding thing we did last Saturday. Something about distracting drivers and causing accidents." Now the line next to them was moving faster. A Sparklets truck, one covered in pictures of gushing water-bottles, slowly cruised on by. Cassidy curled up in agony.

"Well, we've got to do something," Sari protested. Casting a worried look toward the cringing brunet, the nine-year-old grimaced and scooted further away. "Come on, Bee! Do something!"

"I can't," the yellow mech protested. "Boss-Bot threatened to revoke my video-game privileges if I did and... Hey, that's why I got stuck in a stupid traffic jam! Look, Sari! Hah, wonder if any of those stupid Constructicon dolts are in this bunch!"

"Cool," Sari breathed as she pressed her face up against the window. Occupying half the roadway was a fork-lift, a cement mixer, a back-hoe, three dozen human workers taking a coffee break, and... The red-head squinted in curiosity and pointed. "Hey, Bee! What's that thing?"

"Huh?" For a moment, the scout studied the odd looking machine sitting in the midst of all the construction vehicles. Then he began scanning the Internet. "I don't know, Sari," the scout declared after a frustratingly disappointing ten seconds of research. "My search engine is coming up blank. Why don't you ask Cassie?"

Sari blinked as she remembered the other girls growing problem and cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder. "Er," she began, only to wince at what she saw. "Bee, maybe that's not such a great idea..."

"Fine, then I'll ask her," Bumblebee declared peevishly. Clearing his vocal processor loudly, he poured as much good cheer and energy into his words as possible. "Hey, Cassie," he chirped, jouncing his seat cushion to catch her attention. "What's that thing called?"

Cringing through a surprise cramp, Cassidy blearily dragged her gaze away from the dingy tan carpeting. Brown eyes focused on the seat-belt that was eagerly waving at her. Realizing it was gesturing toward the nearby window, the brunet shifted her focus only to choke. There, in all it's glory, was a watering truck. The machine was merrily blasting away at superheated asphalt without a care in the world. "Gaagh," she yelped, diving on the door handle. It wouldn't open! Next, she slammed her hand down on the automatic window button with absolutely no results. Was he evil?! Pouncing on the cheerfully waving seat-belt, she practically strangled it as she shrieked, "Open your flipping door!"

"AAAHHH," Bee yelped, involuntarily setting off his sirens. Every door the Autobot owned was flung wide open in an instant and Cassidy broke all land speed records for the nearest port-a-potty. The cheap plastic door slammed shut like a punctuation mark. "Sheesh," Bumblebee at last groused. "What's her problem?" Silence was his only answer. Well, until the cement mixer went haywire. Yelling in alarm, three humans, fifteen cars, and a fork-lift were covered in dust and concrete. Bumblebee was quick to run to the rescue.

Two very uncomfortable hours later, the bedraggled trio finally made their way into the Autobot base. Well... Cassidy wanted to save what little dignity she had left and simply walk in. A certain scout had a different idea. Driving into the base at top speed, Bumblebee slammed to a halt scant inches from the nearest wall and flung all four doors wide open. As soon as both organics had dragged themselves out of his interior, the yellow compact car had transformed back into root mode and resumed the sulking session he'd been indulging in since the construction sight. Red faced with embarrassment, Cass stalked into the base's only restroom and firmly shut the door. She needed to get cleaned up in the worst way. After that fight with the foreman... and then when that cement mixer had unexpectedly malfunctioned and started spraying the landscape... Ugh! Shuddering, she turned on the water. This day couldn't end fast enough!

Crossing his robotic arms, Bee glared peevishly at the door. "I just don't understand why she has to be so impatient about it," Bee groused. "It's just... I've had to lubricate ever since I got here! You don't see me complaining about it!"

"Really," Sari wondered. "You've had to use the little Bot's room since you came back to the base?"

"Heh, no Sari," Bumblebee denied with a fond smile. "I've had to lubricate since I got HERE! You know, Earth? We just haven't gotten around to building the facilities, yet." He shrugged good naturally. Personally, the scout felt that there were way more important things for a base of operations, like WiFi connections to the Internet, cable, and his all time favorite: video-games. Lubrication rooms could wait in the name of entertainment. "I can wait," he boasted proudly before scowling at the organic restroom door peevishly. "Unlike little miss impatient in there..."

"But you guys have been on Earth for a long time, now," Sari protested. At Bee's puzzled frown, she grew somewhat mortified. "You mean you haven't used the bathroom in over a year!"

"No, Sari," Bumblebee reassured her, waving one overly large servo placating. "I needed to go right before the crew went into cryogenic stasis. So, technically, I've needed to lubricate for fifty one years, two months, and eighteen days!"

"Which explains so much about you," Cassidy drawled as she trudged out of the restroom. For

a moment, she gazed up at the Autobot sitting cross legged just beyond the door. In jittery confusion, the yellow mech stared right back. She took note of his almost watery puppy dog optics, his black racing stripes that she doubted were accidental, and his constant fidgeting. Then the mental picture of Bumblebee swelling up like an overfilled water balloon and exploding ran through her mind and she winced. Hopefully, she would be at least fifty miles away before anything like that happened. "Look, thanks for the ride, but I think I'll go to my room." The heavy thud of robotic footsteps began to follow, making her cringe. Since when had she been assigned the job of babysitter? Turning her head, she declared, "And I don't want company!"

_At the Decepticon Base..._

"That does explain a lot about him," Scrapper agreed, nodding to himself contemplatively. Then he noticed that he was out of oil. He lifted the empty canister. "Yo, Mix! Top me up!"

"You got it," the cement mixer called back, digging around in their catch of Cybertronian snack food. As he passed it over, a thought occurred to him and he glanced up. "Hey, if we offered that Auto-dork the use of our lubrication facilities, do you think he'd switch sides?"

"No idea," Scrapper replied as he popped the lid on his new oil can and took a long drink. "Lets give him another decade or so. We'll wait till he's really desperate, then extend the servo of friendship... Heeey, Swindle! How are you doing? Come on, take a load off! So, what brings you into this neck of the woods?"

"Oh, same old, same old," Swindle pleasantly replied before he trailed off in contemplative fascination. On the monitor screens was an enlarged image of the yellow Autobot scout. Bumblebee was backing away until his back-plates hit the wall, every piece of armor extended in nervous tension, and his Human pet protectively held in his servos. It wasn't until the camera angle changed that he got a glimpse of what was making Bumblebee a shivering mess: Cassidy. The brunet was in the middle of a tirade, waving her hands in the air and snarling something about privacy. One of the huckster's eye ridges rose in honest surprise. "You have a direct camera feed into the Autobot base?"

"Pretty sweet, eh?" Mixmaster paused in the midst of getting another oil canister, he gave the sales-mech a lopsided grin. "Soundwave set us up. This is the funniest show to hit the airwaves, and it's all free!"

"More than sweet," Swindle mumbled, his purple optics narrowing thoughtfully. "Say, friend... is there any way to boost up the sound? I can barely hear a word that little fleshling is saying."

"Yeah, I know what you're saying," Scrapper agreed as he turned the dial. "These organics have such squeaky, high pitched voices..."

"Here, let me," Swindle volunteered, stepping forward. Opening up one of the machines panels, he reached inside and fiddled with the wiring. "Used to work with one of these models back a few centuries ago. Clunky things..." The sales-mech's perpetual smile abruptly sharpened with genuine amusement as he found the wiring he was searching for. Electricity crackled for a brief instant before the speaker system abruptly cleared. Instead of sounding like they were at the bottom of a particularly deep well, the people on the screen sounded as if they were in the same room with them. With a satisfied air, Swindle replaced the machine panel and stood up. They watched in growing amusement as Cassidy successfully scared Bumblebee into escaping the room, poste haste! By the end of her rant against all things robotic, alien, or just plain crazy, she had the entire monitor room doubled over with laughter.

"Hoo, she's a holy terror, she it," Scrapper declared, wiping away tears of mirth. "Hey, thanks for the help with the speaker system. We don't know what we could have done without yah. How much do we owe yah?"

"I think, just this once it can be on the house," Swindle conceded with a gracious nod. "After all, Megatron paid for a major upgrade for all his officers, not to mention any repairs you needed." _Besides_, he reflected with genuine amusement as he watched Cassidy slowly limp off to her room. _Patching into the Autobot's security system is more than enough payment in the long run. _


	12. Chapter 12

Counterfeit

Chapter 12: Many Happy Returns

By: Mooncrossed

_ Hey, folks! Sorry for the long wait. Blushes. Several things came up that delayed, derailed, and disrupted my writing. Personally, I blame Simmons. He simply refused to cooperate! I'd like to thank Noella50881 (Yup, Cass does have a temper... Poor Bee), to XxShadowfangxX (Too true... 'Cons love to laugh, especially at the misfortunes of others. Grin), to RedTailHawk19 (ohhh, that would be too cruel. Imagines Cassidy running away in abject terror of all things romantic. Snicker), and to Guest (thanks, glad I could make you laugh!) I don't own Transformers, I-Hop, the Internet, the Wolfman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or Deliverance. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my family, who endured every proof-reading with good humor, and God, without whom I would have no talent at all. Now, on with the show! _

_An hour before sunrise..._

The room at the end of the hall could barely qualify as a bedroom. Concrete walls, concrete floors, and a steel re-bar ceiling were the first things Simmons noticed as he casually strolled into the echoing cavernous room. He turned his head to regard the pile of furniture that had been blocking the door in a vain effort to keep her fellow 'housemates' out. A rapid glance revealed pencils, paper, open textbooks, and half a dozen notebooks, all signs of a late night study-homework session. Very nice. For a moment he considered the teenager in his midst, lying fast asleep, drooling into her pillow, and almost pitied her... almost. Leaning down close, he shouted with deafening good cheer, "WAKEY, WAKEY." Only years of training on the force gave him the reflexes needed to dodge the fist that came careening for his nose a split second later. Catching her arm in a vice-like grip, he hauled her out of bed. "Awww, you know better than that! Time for school, short-stuff!"

"Gnnnugh," the brunet garbled, peeling bleary eyes open to behold the lunatic grin of the government agent. And why was she standing up? Hadn't she just been having a wonderful dream about unicorns... and puppies...? Brown eyes drifted closed and a slight snore escaped her lips. Teetering on the verge of asleep and awake, she slowly tilted backwards. Unfortunately, there was now a strange man who had intruded on her dream. One who wore a black suit and pranced around randomly giving audits to innocent fairy-tale creatures. The unicorn looked particularly upset. Maybe it was because the poor beast had his audit papers stuck to his horn?

"Oh, no you don't," Agent Simmons warned, hauling her back on her feet again and hustling her toward the door. Pausing a moment to scoop up his briefcase, he noticed that the brunet was making her slow shuffling way toward the shelving unit to get her clothes. He easily apprehended her. "We don't have any time for that! This could be a matter of life and death, quick, quick, quick!"

Quite unexpectedly, Cassidy found a briefcase shoved into her arms. She blinked in sleepy surprise as she was hustled along at breakneck speed. Down the hallway they traveled, past doors, echoing side-passages, and confused giant robots who were in the midst of drinking some kind of hot-pink radioactive material.

"Um, excuse me," one of them boomed suddenly. Bulkhead stared in innocent curiosity at them. He exchanged glances with Bumblebee before considering the organics standing just beyond the rec-room doorway. "Where are you going?"

"Can't talk," Simmons snapped back, the very picture of authority. "Official government business!" He shoved Cassidy aside long enough to flash his government badge at the two aliens. The fact that she promptly lost her balance and fell on her face was completely unintentional... Though the vaguest sadistic smirk might have twitched to life for a half a second at the painful sound of her body hitting the concrete floor. Then he was all business as he gave a fifteen minute prepared speech that essentially translated to, 'I'm not allowed to tell you anything.'

Just as Cass was picking herself up off the floor, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Over in the adjacent hallway was a vending machine... and were those blackened tentacles oozing out of the bottom? In half awake alarm, she squinted desperately against the glare of the overhead lights even as she scuttled nervously away from it. Before she could confirm that it was, in fact, the space barnacle infected snack-machine she'd encountered on her first day at the base, a hand grabbed the back of her pajama shirt and hauled her to her feet. Turning her head, she squinted back into the hallway only to find it empty. Oh, well. It was probably her imagination. Right? The brunet made a mental note to invest in a lighter, just in case. And then she was moving. Before she knew it, she found herself sitting in a fancy rental car... handcuffed to a briefcase? Blearily, she stared down at this unusual fashion statement and contemplated whether she wanted to remove her fancy new bracelet now or later.

It seemed to only be a matter of minutes before they were just beyond the city limits. Screeching to a halt, Reuben leaped out of the car and hauled Cassidy out of the back seat. A whoosh of automatic doors sounded and they abruptly stopped. No, it wasn't a secret government spy center like she'd hoped it was, it was a diner! Patrons and waitresses looked up and stared at them in abject disbelief. Cass, barefoot and dressed in fashionable kitty pajamas while handcuffed to a briefcase, stared back. She turned to leave only to get strong-armed into the nearest chair by Simmons. "Say nothing," the government agent warned. "Act casual... enemy agents could be anywhere!"

"Hello," a waitress cheerfully began while shuffling around some menus. "Welcome to I-Hop! May I take..." Then she looked up and faltered. "... Your order?" Goggle eyed, she studied Cassidy's odd attire. Were those cartoon cats printed all over her clothes?!

Blushing nearly scarlet, the seventeen-year-old wished she could melt through the floor... or kill Simmons. Either option was okay in her book. In a haze, Cassidy listened to the government agent order a colossal meal fit for an army. Her eyes widened as her mind suddenly concocted a ludicrous scenario that, considering her current company, just might happen! And she knew exactly how! Ominous music would begin to play as an army transport vehicle would come rumbling up off the highway, the doors would slowly creek open, like the entrance to a haunted house. Then twenty navy S.E.A.L.S., five army rangers, and a lady drill sergeant would file out, all eager to eat breakfast! Crowding into a corner booth, she pictured her face getting smooshed against a soldier's flack jacket, her head getting used for an arm rest, and half a dozen army boots accidentally stomping on her bare feet. Blinking back to reality, the pajama clad teenager aimed a suspicious glare toward the government spook. If he'd invited any of those guys to her personal humiliation, she was going to scream! Instead, she carefully examined the handcuff wrapped around her wrist.

Back when she was really young, she'd hated jewelry. Necklaces had the potential to choke her (a fairly common hazard considering how often she got into fights), rings hurt her fingers when she was arm wrestling, and there was no way she was getting her ears pierced. Bracelets on the other hand... Those were fun! She remembered layering her arms in bangles and dancing, pretending to be some kind of retro-gypsy. Other times, she'd wear only one or two as she regally imagined being a noble from a bygone era. The problem was, the clasps were almost impossible to hook together, and her parents and brother very quickly grew tired of helping her. There had to be another solution. And, like the enterprising little kid that she was, she'd found one: Flexibility! It might have taken a little work, but her hands could now slip out of a bracelet very nicely.

Now she studied the handcuff on her wrist with idle curiosity. Shaking her trapped fist until her fingers were relaxed, she slowly inched her hand through the opening until she had slipped free. She paused as a new thought drifted into focus in her under-caffeinated brain. Did she really want to broadcast to Agent Reuben Simmons that she could do this? Biting back a sigh, the brunet slipped her hand back into the shackle. Then she turned her attention to the briefcase she was attached to, and grimaced. Lock-picking just wasn't her thing. Oh, don't get her wrong, she could do it... as long as she had most of the day to herself, an army of bobby pins... and a key wouldn't hurt, either. Cassidy was spared from any further contemplations of an illegal nature by a hand slapping the table in front of her.

"Okay, kid," Reuben began in hushed tones. "I can't tell you much, but what I will say is this: We barely made it out of there alive! As of right now, this restaurant is the only point of safety in Detroit! Why, any minute now, a nuke might land..." He stiffened as his cell-phone rang loudly. Digging the device out into the open, he stared at the message displayed on the screen in wide eyed alarm. Oh, no! Kid, I've got to go! It's a matter of national security!" Jumping out of his chair, he was gone in seconds, racing out the door as if his coattails were on fire. And then the food arrived...

Cassidy stared in bleary eyed awe as platters piled high with eggs, pancakes, oatmeal, and everything else in between were set before her. She didn't have her wallet. Lowering her head into her hands, she wriggled her bare toes. Singing yellow cats were printed in a chaotic pattern all over her pajamas. At least, she thought they were singing... they were surrounded by music notes! Sinking lower in her chair, she blushed at all the attention she was receiving. A giant pitcher of orange juice was plonked down at the table. Several empty minutes went by, and Reuben still hadn't come back. Now the waitress's smile was beginning to look strained. Where was that conniving spook?!

Casually leaning back in his chair, Agent Reuben Simmons glanced around at his surroundings. It was such a lovely little hotel room! Making a mental note to look up this address again for future reference, he glanced out of a nearby window at the I-Hop across the street and idly wondered how much longer it would take for that Nulte kid to loose her temper. If her psych-profile was anything to go by, she'd probably fly off the handle within the next thirty minutes or so. He'd just finished a nice tax-payer funded breakfast of eggs over easy and marmalade on rye-toast when an abrupt sizzling noise caught his attention. Turning his head, he watched half of the restaurant's florescent sign fizzle out and die. The spy grinned and muttered, "Finally." Tossing his napkin on the table, the government spook stood up and strolled out the door.

Every diner in I-HOP jerked up in alarm as the restaurant door was flung open with a crash. There Agent Simmons stood. Cassidy, who was surrounded by three annoyed waitresses and a manager who was threatening to call the cops, simply glared back. "Whew," he declared with a gleeful grin. "The world is saved! Come on kid, time's a wasting!" Shoving a fistful of cash into the manager's hands, he whisked the furiously blushing brunet out the door.

A roar of engines and several broken traffic laws later, Cass was standing in front of the Autobot's warehouse... half-awake and wishing she had dreamed the entire incident up. Apparently, someone up above took pity on her because the massive garage door entrance slowly rose to let her in at that exact moment. Blue optics blinked down at her in confusion from the darkness as she staggered on by. Bulkhead started to speak, then hesitated. She didn't look like she was in a talking mood... and what was she doing outside? At last deciding to let it go, the large alien transformed into his alternate form (a Herkimer Battle Jitney), and left the base. Whatever was going on, he was sure Prowl could handle it. As for him, he had to go on patrol!

Trudging through a thankfully empty base, down a mile long hallway, and into her room, Cassidy tiredly peeled off her filthy pajamas. That alone made her feel better. Making a mental note to burn them after school, she surveyed her clothing shelves for the least noticeable outfit she owned. Anything to avoid standing out! Deodorant was the next step, along with a healthy dose of foot powder to combat the grime of Detroit. At last, she stood proudly, her makeshift book-bag in hand...staring longingly down at her nice comfy bed. Dropping face-first into the foam mattress, she was fast asleep before she'd even landed.

_Meanwhile..._

"No, absolutely not," Bumblebee exclaimed vehemently in Cybertronian. He waved his arms for emphasis of how 'Not Okay' he was with this new plan. "You couldn't pay me enough to do that!"

"There is no-one else available," Prowl countered. With quiet dignity, he rested upon the medi-berth. At the mulish expression that came over Bee's face-plates, the tactician became contemplative. "I have observed that, by Cybertronian standards, you are at a similar level of development to Cassidy. Between the stages of youngling and adult."

"Hah," Ratchet barked out a laugh. "I thought I was the only one who noticed! She had that exact same expression on her face throughout that botched medical exam two days ago!"

"Indeed," Prowl agreed, his visor gleaming with a certain hint of cruel amusement. "The constant efforts to evade responsibility, the defiance against authority, the tendency to recharge late into the day..."

"I'm nothing like that little Pit-Spawn," Bumblebee protested, his optics flashing with alarm.

"Language," Ratchet admonished, waving a tool warningly.

Visibly wilting at the ultimatum, the scout whined, "Can't you find someone else? Anyone else?" An idea occurred to Bee that made him visibly brighten. Maybe he could take Sari along. She loved to visit the High-School last time, and more importantly, she always managed to cheer Cassie up. Any and all plans for making the nine-year-old act as a Human shield went up in flames when he suddenly remembered one key fact: last night was Marathon Movie Night. That meant that all day today, the red-head would be sleeping off the effects of two cartons of ice-cream, one case of root-beer, fifteen candy-bars, two bags of microwave popcorn, and ten hours of non-stop horror movies. He was on his own... Noooo!

"Optimus is conducting a video-conference with the mayor of Detroit," Prowl supplied in dispassionate tones, as of to confirm his worst fears. "Bulkhead in on patrol, Ratchet is attending his duties as our only medic, and I am unfortunately laid up in recovery. That leaves you to take Cassidy to the organic learning center."

"But... but Cassie hates me," Bee exclaimed. "Did you hear even a fraction of the things she said to me yesterday?! I mean, it's not like I can replace the spark-felt trust and affection that Prowl shares with her! A guardianship is special!"

"Oh, for the love of Primus," Ratchet fumed, picking up a spanner from a nearby workbench. Whether it was to be used as an instrument of healing or as a disciplinary device depended on how much longer Bumblebee continued to whine. "It's just one car ride, not a bonding ceremony! Prowl will be back on his pedes in time to pick Cassidy up from the organic learning center by this afternoon! Now get out of my med-bay!"

The scout fell silent, looking from Ratchet to Prowl in pleading disbelief. Unforgiving expressions met his gaze. At last, gusting out a put upon sigh, the smaller Autobot slowly trudged from the room. His slump of defeat was the last thing they saw before the automatic doors slid closed behind him. A blessed silence fell over the room. Quietly, both mechs returned to the activities they'd been indulging in before Bumblebee's noisy intrusion: Ratchet, to his careful medical examination of his patient's processor; and Prowl, to his morning meditation. After a moment, the tactician commented, "By the way, you have my thanks. If you had told him Prime's video-conference was happening in his office, he would not have wasted any time in convincing our leader to take Cassidy to the learning center, instead."

"Of course," the medic rasped, a certain level of malicious amusement in his voice. "And I also know that Bumblebee's responsible for all my tools getting mysteriously glued to the ceiling last Tuesday."

"Ah, I had suspected as much," Prowl commented absently. "A certain obnoxious shade of hot pink paint was mixed into the wash-rack soap dispenser last week. It took me five hours to remove the color from my frame and there is only one culprit who could possibly be responsible. Considering Cassidy's peculiar early morning...temperament, I felt she was a more than a fitting punishment for Bumblebee as well."

"You're a cruel mech," Ratchet replied in gruff tones as he began the next test. There might have been a certain level of approval behind all the static and rust in his voice. So far, there was nothing wrong with Prowl's processor, but he wanted to be absolutely certain before he sent him back out into the field. Better to be safe rather than sorry.

_At that moment..._

Bumblebee trudged morosely down the corridor until he stood in front of a plain, organic sized bedroom door. Oh, sure, it might have looked boringly ordinary, but the scout knew better. Somewhere behind that door was a terrifying creature that he had to not only wake up, but take to High-school as well. "I am not just like a teenager," he whined, sullenly scuffing the ground with one massive pede. "Cassie's mean, and antisocial, and...and..." His shoulders sagged. "Okay, maybe she is a little justified in her anger over the whole construction site incident yesterday, even if it wasn't my fault we got stuck in a traffic jam!" This led to memories of other embarrassing disasters, like the trashcan he'd tripped over at her old job. For some reason, those things were always sitting on the curb right where an unsuspecting mech might like to walk. Talk about annoying! It totally wasn't his fault that he'd stumbled over one of them and crashed, helm first, through a window that belonged to Cassie's boss. Sheesh!

A new, more positive memory caused him to visibly brighten. None of the other Humans had bothered to give him a nickname before, but she had! Sure, 'Bumbles' was a somewhat annoying nickname, but it still meant that she liked him! His confidence bolstered, the scout raised one servo to knock, only to let out a frightened yelp when the lights over his helm let out a loud electrical buzz. Bumblebee turned his head and fearfully glanced up at the flickering and sputtering fixture nervously. Then he glared. It didn't matter what they did to it, whether it was changing the bulb, or even rewiring the entire system, nothing worked. For some reason, the light outside Cassie's room was constantly on the verge of going out. This gave the corridor an ominous, almost spooky appearance that reminded Bee of the set for one of the scary movies he'd watched last night. Trying to ignore the sense of impending doom he was getting, Bumblebee squared his shoulders and glared at the door like it was a living adversary. He could do this!

With terrifying power, he raised one massive robotic fist... only to abruptly loose his nerve and knock timidly against Cassidy's bedroom door, instead. "Caaassiee," the scout warbled hesitantly. "It's... er, it's time for school!" No response was forthcoming no matter how much the scout strained his audio receptors. Knocking again, he added an old-fashioned school-bell sound effect he'd found on the Internet. Still no answer. "Aww, come on! You don't want to be late, do you?" Bee fidgeted as the warehouse door continued to taunt him with it's absolutely ominous silence. Now, he was growing worried. She could be hurt, or kidnapped, or mutated into some kind of horrific creature. He knew it could happen, he saw it in nearly every horror movie last night! Gathering his courage, Bee reached down, slowly lifted the garage door access to her room, and shuffled into the blackened gloom one inch at a time.

"Cassie," Bumblebee whispered, his wide blue optics shining in the dark. Gradually, his vision adjusted to recognize the teenager sprawled out on her bed in a blissful state of unconsciousness. Dressed in a rumpled tee-shirt and jeans, with a pair of dark glasses rested haphazardly on her nose and her tennis shoes half-on and half-off her sock clad feet, she was passed out face first on her tire-bed. Excited to find her unharmed, he bounded over to her bed with loud crashing footsteps. "OH THANK PRIMUS," he exclaimed at the top of his vocalizer while he activated his headlights. "YOU'RE STILL ALIVE!" She didn't reply...at least, not in English. Hissing like a vampire, she burrowed her face into the pillows. The scout blinked in hurt surprise at her less than happy reaction to his presence before he scowled in abrupt realization. "Heeey! Why didn't you say you were awake? You might have been hurt, or kidnapped, or fallen into another dimension, or..."

It's amazing what a person can sleep through if they are really determined. Cassidy dozed through a description of the warning signs that you were turning into a werewolf, she snoozed her way past a description of the movie about the weird turtle creatures living in the sewers, and nearly became comatose when he warned about the hazards of going camping in the woods with cannibals. The scout was jarred back to reality when she let out a particularly loud snore. "Awww, don't be like that, Cassie," he warbled unhappily as he nudged her with one finger. Besides burrowing deeper into the blankets, she didn't bother to reply. He smirked. _Oh, yeah,_ he mused to himself as he picked up one end of the tire bed and tipping it slightly. _Well, two can play at this game... What the...?!_ To the Autobot's surprise, Cassidy remained on the bed, her arms and legs wrapped around the edges with the tenacity of a space-barnacle. And she was still sleeping!

For a long moment he stared in disbelief. "She couldn't be," he mumbled in Cybertronian. A scan proved that, yes, she was actually still unconscious. Then a devious look twisted his metal features. Hefting up the unwieldy tractor-tire in both servos, he turned it upside-down and shook it. Aside from a few pillows and one sad looking blanket, nothing fell off! Twisting it back upright, he stared in honest confusion at the sleeping Human... who was clinging like a limpet to the foam mattress. Ten minutes later, Bumblebee slowly trudged out of Cassidy's room, dragging a snoring tire-bed behind him. Ratchet would know what to do! He glanced behind himself at the still sleeping brunet and frowned. Well, he hoped that Doc-bot had a solution, because he had run out of ideas.

Arriving in the rec-room, Bee dropped the tire bed with a thump and wiped the condensation from his face-plates. _Whew_, he silently reflected. _Getting a teenager to school is hard work! Wonder if Sari is going to be this bad when she gets older?_ Pausing a moment, he tried to imagine it, before shuddering. _Over my off-lined frame!_ Deep down inside, he felt the first twinge of pity for Prowl. Oh, don't get him wrong, he was still planning on revenge-pranking him for this. _Still_, he mused contemplatively. _If I had to go through this routine every day, I'd be trying to foist off the job on everyone else, too._ Deciding to just get it over with, he turned to pick up the bed again, only to seize up in sudden panic. _Cassie's vanished! How?! When?! If I've lost her, I'm in a slag-heap of trouble! _

Looking wildly around, he checked underneath the tire-bed, searched behind furniture, and looked up every hallway. That's when he spotted her...standing in the kitchenette, with her eyes glued to the coffeemaker as if her life depended on it. "Hey, there you are," Bumblebee exclaimed, stomping over to the small organic in relieved annoyance. "You know, Cassie, you could have told me that you were over... Huh?" Pausing, he gave the brunet an up close look. She didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't so much as flinch. The drip-drip-drip of caffeine seemed to absorb every fiber of her being. Nervously, the scout fidgeted.

Unaware of the steadily growing panic-attack she was causing, Cassidy stared at the steady drip of the coffeemaker. The brunet didn't know how she had gotten into the kitchenette of the Autobot base, nor did she have any discernible comprehension of much of anything else. All she knew was that she was safely encased in the soothing shadows of the overhang, the heavenly aroma of coffee was drifting around her head, and the wall she was leaning against was nice and cold. She closed her eyes in a state of half-awake bliss.

"Caaaasssssiiieee," Bumblebee crooned softly, his huge face mere inches behind her. On hands and knees, he peered into the little kitchenette in growing worry. He reached inside and waved one servo in front of the teenager. "Yoo-hoo, Cybertron to Cassie!" Sitting back, the scout glanced around with worried optics. Was it some kind of organic processor-ache? A catastrophic system failure?! Or maybe a spark-attack!? Nervously, he looked again. The brunet still stood there, leaning against the wall, staring at that little tiny drink making device. This was not normal Human behavior! Medi-Bot, he needed a medi-Bot! About to jump to his pedes to retrieve the doctor, the scout abruptly paused as a new thought came to his mind. What if something worse happened to her while he was gone? Bulkhead was nowhere in sight, so he couldn't ask him to go for help and he couldn't leave. So, that just left... Cranking his head back he bawled at top volume, "RATCHET!"

"Don't worry, youngling, I'm right here," Rachet bellowed, his voice growing louder as he ran into the rec-room. Venting great gusts of air from the exertion of sprinting across the base, he breathlessly questioned, "What is it this time? Did you get your pede caught in an electric outlet, again? Light yourself on fire? Lost another limb?" Rather than answer, Bumblebee worriedly pointed into the kitchenette. The medi-bot froze in sudden realization. A lot of horrific injuries could and did happen in one key area of an organic household: the kitchen. Already, he pictured head trauma, knife wounds, electrocution, and the list went on. Dreading what he'd find, the medic hurriedly peered down into the dim cubbyhole to find Cassidy doubled over with her hands over her ears. "Oh, dear Primus, no," he mumbled in Cybertronian as he prepared to run a diagnostic scan on her prone form.

Cassidy dazedly considered a world that seemed strangely off-kilter. She did her best to attempt to remember what she'd been doing just before her whole world had imploded. 'Let's see,' she carefully pondered as she climbed gracelessly to her feet. 'Everything began with that weird dream I had where I was being manhandled by a Tyrannosaurus-Rex... who wouldn't stop talking about movie trivia. Then there was the coffeemaker... and then...um...' Squinting, she attempted to force her mind to function despite the horrific ringing in her ears. That's when electricity skittered through her body from the top of her head to the soles of her feet like a lightning strike. "Yee-youch," the brunet yowled in surprised agony, her spine arching back in a futile attempt to avoid more pain. Straightening up, she twisted around and bestowed a sleepy death glare toward the one responsible.

Ratchet squinted worriedly back. The results arrived on Ratchet's medical diagnostic a second later and he scowled. Standing up, he smacked Bee on the back of the helm and snarled, "Quit sounding false alarms!"

"Ow," he yelped, his servos instantly covering the new dent that adorned the back of his head. Then he suddenly realized Ratchet was walking away. "What...?! Whoa, wait, aren't you going to help her?"

"Considering the fact that I have over two-hundred diagnostics left to initiate, youngling," Ratchet drawled condescendingly. "The answer is no. I've got better things to do with my time than help an organic get her coffee-fix for the day. Now, unless you've lit your aft on fire, leave me alone!" The sliding door to the med-bay locking shut punctuated his sentence.

Honestly confused, Bumblebee looked back inside the low cubbyhole to the organic kitchen. _Huh_, he mused, squinting into the dim light. _What's coffee? Is it some kind of weird music group?_ His search engine was already hard at work finding the answer. Cassidy had, by this point, picked herself up and staggered back to the source of all things java. The history of coffee as an export flashed to life on Bee's HUD, and the scout rolled his optics theatrically even as he scrolled past it. Next came the scientific classification. _Yeash, spare me,_ he mentally groaned bypassing this as well. This was followed by a rough definition and he vented a sigh of relief. _Finally! So, it's some sort of strange organic fuel source. Big deal! I mean, what could be so bad about... this?!_ Trailing off, his optics widened at the list of side-effects that flashed to life in front of his optics. By this point, Cassidy had her first steaming hot mug of caffeinated goodness and was gratefully guzzling it down. Almost against his will, the Cybertronian took note of her tired, listless demeanor, her zombie-like movements, and the slightly grumpy expression marring her features.

Sudden movement drew his attention away from the disaster known as Cassidy Jane Nulte to take in a new horrifying sight. All the loud noises had awakened a certain red-head from her zombie riddled dreams. Now, there Sari stood, blearily straining for all she was worth to reach the half full percolator. Dread filled optics watched that tiny Human hand reach higher and higher until she just barely brushed the handle. "Oh, no you don't," Bumblebee declared in no nonsense tones as he scooped the nine-year-old off to safety. Ignoring her sleepy protests that she just wanted to try some, he deposited the little girl into the nearest kitchen chair and shoved a handful of organic fuel from the refrigerator into her arms. "I can't have two of you addicted to that nasty coffee. From now on, you're sticking with healthy foods, like burger-Bot meals and chocolate!"

Completely missing the expression of disbelief on Sari's face, he again focused his attention on his temporary Human charge. Then he started in surprise. _Hey, where did she go?!_ Optics wide, Bumblebee looked wildly around. _Okay, she's not in the kitchen, so therefore..._ His face-plates brightened into an expression of spark-felt relief. "Oh, there you are, Cassie," the scout exclaimed out loud, running up to her with tremor inducing steps. "How'd you manage to walk that fast! I mean, a rust damaged service drone usually travels faster."

At that most hated of nicknames, a sour expression crossed the brunet's features. "Thanks, Bumbles, love the compliment," Cassidy interrupted in dry tones. "Now, yah mind telling me why my bed is sitting out in the middle of the rec-room?" A frown stole across her features even as she took another casual sip of coffee. 'Then again,' she reflected, 'Do I really want to find out?'

"Yeah, Bee," Sari agreed, stuffing an entire dark-chocolate and walnut fudge candy-bar into her mouth like a chipmunk. Spewing chocolate crumbs and doing her level best to be understood around a clogged tongue, she continued, "Thatsh rully weird."

"Huh, what's really weird?" Bumblebee repeated her garbled words in confusion as he glanced down at the small girl. Then the realization hit him that Cassidy was no longer there... again. "Hey," he squawked, spotting her retreating figure traveling slowly up the long hallway toward her room. "Cassie, where are you going? The exit's that way!"

"To get my homework," Cassidy called back. "I've decided it's easier to keep my sanity if I don't know what you guys do to my personal belongings when I'm not around to defend them." She'd worked hard on it, too. Nearly pulling an all-nighter, the brunet had labored through reams of history notes, mathematics by the busload, and way too many Biology lab papers. Seriously, what made Ms. Shanahan think she needed to know how seagulls reproduced? All it had taught her was the fact that she was glad she wasn't a seagull, and she'd already felt that way before she'd even started! Still, she'd obediently written the paper on everything from their dining habits (yuck), to their mating dances (worthy of a ten minute laughing fit). Now, all she had to do was get her homework and turn it all in. A huge mechanical hand abruptly scooped her up like a pet hamster and dropped her on top of an unyielding metal shoulder. "Gaaah! Bumbles, you made me spill! Put me down!"

"I did put you down," he joked back, even as he headed the opposite direction. "Now, come on! High-School awaits... Bwaagh! Cassie, stop it! I'm not a jungle-gym!" Flapping his arms wildly, he let out a feminine yelp as she dug one of her sneakers into a particularly sensitive wiring system while climbing down his back.

Somehow, Cassidy was still holding her coffee mug when she reached the ground. Glaring down at the giant brown stain on her tee-shirt, she gritted her teeth. Now she had another reason to go back to her room. Ignoring the giant mechanical sissy currently checking for fingerprints on his armor, the teenager resumed her long trudge toward her room. And then she was air-born again as clawed metal fingers hooked the back of her shirt. "Gaaah," she yelped, flailing. "Bumbles, you freaking son of a..."

"Hey, I'm trying to get you to school," he retorted, only to have a mild panic attack when she abruptly slipped out of his servo. How she managed to grasp his knee-guard at the last second on the way down was a complete mystery. Crockery smashed, followed by a long stream of organic curse words. The quick bio-scan he made proved that she was perfectly alright... and leaving. Why did he have the distinct sensation that people were laughing at him right now? Casting a suspicious glance around the hallway, he completely missed the six hidden cameras aimed his way. It was a cinch he wouldn't know about the four Decepticons falling all over themselves with amusement on the other side of town. "Woah, wait a minute, Missy! Don't you dare shut your door on me!" A slam cut off his words, and he slumped. "She just did..." Several minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. "Cassie? Could you maybe speed things up in there?" Silence. "Helllooo, little organiiiic... Cassie?" Continuing silence.

Grumpily digging through her clothes for a new bra (yes, that had gotten coffee stained as well), Cassidy looked up to see a huge mechanical face with blue search-beam eyes peering at her from the newly opened doorway. "Gaaagh," she yelped, trying to cover herself up and defend herself at the same time. Finding a mud smeared sweater, she chucked it as hard as she could. "Get out!"

"AAAAGH," Bumblebee screamed, getting a wad of dirty laundry right between the optics. Loosing his balance, he fell on his aft with a resounding crash.

_And on the other side of town..._

Swindle shook his head at the image on the ship's view-screen. "Oh, brother," he drawled, rolling his optics skyward. "Talk about pathetic! Who's superior, the Human or the 'Bot?" The con-mech smiled. Tilting his head, he watched Bumblebee loose a pathetic battle with the fleshling's dirty laundry. Who knew cloth could clog up a mech's facial gears that badly? While the scout struggled to remove the sweater hooked over his optics, Cass left her room wearing a new outfit and holding a tote-bag full of books. Eying the giant robot that was writhing around on the floor, she then wandered away, mumbling about the insanity of aliens in general. Checking his appearance one last time in the ships reflective paneling, he concluded he was devastatingly perfect as usual. A flick of a switch and the camera connection turned off. Transforming, he drove off, intent on getting to campus before she did. He had several plans to set into motion.

For one thing, Swindle had never suspected he'd get involved in show business. Selling expensive trinkets to rich starlets? Yes. These days, however, he found himself the owner of the small and highly successful company, 'Swindle Films.' Only one series was under the company's ownership, but what a show! The ratings were already through the roof. Aliens all across the galaxy were riveted to "Mud-ball City," the ongoing series about a group of misfit Autobot soldiers who'd been stranded on the most inhospitable, technologically backwards planet in existence, and somehow expected to save the universe! That led to the best part of the entire deal! He didn't have to pay a single credit for the privilege of recording each 'episode.' Frag, he didn't even have to allow for vacation time for the 'actors.' All he'd needed to do was sit back, relax, and allow Soundwave's spy-feeds into Optimus Prime's base take care of the rest. And, of course, what alien could ever forget the show's top star, the most well known organic in the galaxy: Cassidy Jane Nulte!


	13. Chapter 13

Counterfeit

Chapter 13: Wanted Poster

By: Mooncrossed

_ Hey, guys. Sorry about the long wait. Things got really hectic around here. I'd like to thank Sunnysides for his review (thanks), to XxShadowfangxX (yeah, Cass is having a hard time. Glad you liked it), to RedtailHawk19 (thank you), BeastRage the Hunter (Swindle can be predictable that way. Happy you enjoyed the chapter), and to recognizer of unrecognizable (Cass isn't really the kind of girl that likes to ask questions. Most likely, if the huckster's family does come calling, they'll drop into her life in the most rude and unexpected way possible. Grin.) I don't own Transformers, the Internet, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Glass Menagerie, Lord of the Flies, or Shakespeare. This chapter was insanely difficult. For one thing, it actually started out as one chapter that quickly grew into two and a half! My thanks go out to all the people that patiently waited for the next chapter, my parents (for putting up with my writer's block), and God (who gave me the inspiration to write this story). And now, on with the show! _

_Early that morning..._

Cassidy stood, a fresh mug of java in one hand and the strap of her makeshift book-bag in the other. She should have left by now. In fact, she should have left three minutes ago! The reason why she hadn't was large, yellow, and blocking the exit ramp of the Autobot base. Headlights gleamed back at her in unblinking disapproval... At least, they kind of looked like eyes. Only the pitter-patter of Detroit's perpetual rainfall broke the silence. Taking a sip of coffee, the brunet reflected, 'I can't believe I'm having a staring contest with a car!'

Apparently, Bumblebee lost the battle of wills, because with a twitch of his windshield wipers, he whined, "Oh, come on! You can't stand there forever..." He gestured with one seat-belt enticingly through his open door. "Look, I even made my chair cushions extra plump..."

"Which is really creeping me out right now," Cass interrupted with a shudder. "Look, I realize you absolutely love having an alien crawling around inside your body, but frankly, I find it disgusting."

"Well," the yellow scout scoffed. "When you put it that way..."

Interrupting him, she drawled, "How can you NOT put it that way?" The brunet raised her eyebrows challengingly, even as she took another gulp of coffee. She didn't know that the Decepticons on the other end of a direct camera feed were all nodding in full agreement with her statement. Instead, she was considering her opponent with sly determination. "You know, Bumbles... Wouldn't you rather stay nice and dry in the base? All that rain would be terrible for your finish, leaving water spots everywhere. So, why don't I just walk to school, instead, and you can..."

Bumblebee had been leaning forward on his chassis, eager to hear any ideas that involved escaping this torture. Then he abruptly came back to his senses with a hydraulic jump of surprise. "Gaaah," the scout squawked out loud. "Stop being evil!"

"Oh, brother," Cass groaned. Rolling her eyes, she went back to her coffee feeling thoroughly unimpressed. This was going to be a long wait. And it was... for Bumblebee, at least.

An eternity of five whole minutes dragged by. His tires shifted nervously on the concrete. To eat up some time, Bee tried surfing the Internet. Only, he couldn't concentrate on that and guard duty at the same time! Counting the bullet holes adorning the walls was a far more interesting activity! Yeah... right. Bouncing on his chassis with an engine growl of frustration, he gave that activity up in a spark-beat! He was so, colossally, horribly BORED! A glare was aimed toward the brunet responsible for his torment... to find her placidly sipping her coffee without a care in the world. _Aaargh, how can she stand not doing anything_, the scout internally howled. _I'm going completely crazy!_ Finally, he couldn't take anymore. "Oh, fine," he whined, transforming into his root mode. Now sitting on his aft on the cold concrete, he crossed his arms and pouted down at her. "We'll WALK to High-School. Yeesh!"

"Cool," Cass agreed, graciously accepting her victory with a regal looking nod. Tucking her now empty coffee mug inside the cheep nylon bag she'd found in one of the bases storage rooms, she hoisted the strap securely over her shoulder and grinned up at him. Then she began a long meandering journey toward the exit ramp. Bumblebee huffed and grumbled all manner of insults about organics and their shortcomings as he watched her deliberately slow victory walk. Still, Cass continued to mosey by as sluggishly as possible. Finally, the brunet was past him. Looking back, she cast a friendly, slightly sly smile up toward the scout...and ran! "See yah, Bumbles!"

"HEY," Bee yelped in surprise, doing a double take. Then he recovered and was on his feet in an instant. Pounding footsteps that resembled mini-earthquakes shook the ground as he chased frantically after her. "When I said, 'I'll walk you to school,' it doesn't mean 'Let's ditch the 'Bot!"

"It does in my book, Hon," Cass tossed back. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, she paused a moment to regain her breath... and her balance. Seriously, what was this guy supposed to scout out? He was about as sneaky as a stampeding elephant!

Bumblebee continued to run with great crashing footsteps, fuming all the way. "Oh, yeah," he declared, huffing with annoyance. "Well I think your book needs to be rewritten, and..." Just as he was reaching down to scoop up the organic, she suddenly jumped off the side of the ramp and out of his reach. He flailed in an effort to still grab her only to loose his balance. "WOAH!?" With wide optics, the scout wobbled on one heal for an endless second. Then gravity took effect and he crashed to the ground while going over seventy miles an hour!

_At the Decepticon Base..._

Blitzwing and Scrapper collectively winced as they watched Bumblebee power-glide on his front across thirty feet of asphalt, sparks flying off his armor all the way. He did try to stop himself, the Decepticons were willing to give him props for that, at least. All he succeeded at, though, was twisting around mid-slide. Now he was sliding backwards down the street! The empty warehouse across the way never stood a chance. With three tons of solid weight behind it, the scout's aft slammed into the building hard enough to gouge out a new front entrance. Pained groaning came from the shadowy depths and a pair of dazed blue optics glowed to life through the ensuing cloud of dust, only to widen in sudden alarm at the sound of an unexpected creaking noise. That was when the roof collapsed!

"Felt that," Scrapper lazily drawled as he took a sip of motor-oil.

"Yah," Blitzwing agreed, his Random persona firmly in the driver's seat. "I'm beginning to believe the littlest one's aft is ze most destructive force on ze planet! Hah, hah!"

"A one 'Bot wrecking ball," the Constructicon ascribed with a sage nod. He took another swig of oil and wiped his mouth with the back of one servo. "It makes me wonder how they keep winning."

"I know," Blitzwing moped tearfully. "They are such idiots, it's amazing they've lasted this long!" Together, they watched as Bumblebee began to recover.

"Ohhh," the scout moaned, "What the frag happened?" Pushing aside the broken roof that had been draped across his prone form like a blanket, the scout peered around himself. He looked terrible. Scratches now adorned every square inch of armor plating and dust coated every gear. His new appearance was so awful, he looked more like a demolition racer rather than an Autobot soldier! Bumblebee held his head as a processor-ache began to make itself known. Then he stiffened and his optics suddenly flared icy blue as his most recent memory files clicked back into place.

"Hey, Cassie," he yelped, scrambling to his pedes. "Wait for me!" Transforming, he squealed all four wheels as he raced off, only to suddenly swerve and apply his brakes. "WOAH!" The crunch of metal meeting metal was painful in it's intensity, causing both the Decepticon's watching the view-screen to collectively wince. They couldn't see it, but they could certainly empathize. An empty hubcap slowly rolled into view and settled with a sad rattling noise upon the empty street. This was followed by an angry engine growl, the squeal of transforming parts, and a string of Cybertronian curses. More crashing noises soon followed, some of which were violent enough to shake the camera. Blitzwing tilted his helm, trying to translate the noises into a plausible image in his mind. It was somewhat frustrating to only have a collapsed warehouse in one's view and not see the people involved.

"Um, dude," drawled an unfamiliar, male Human voice. "Yah mind not kicking my truck like that? It's not exactly a rental."

In tones that were beyond incensed, Bumblebee demanded, "What the frag are you doing here?! Nobody ever drives on this street!" Scrapper blinked and looked at Blitzwing in silent curiosity. Was this another organic pet of the Autobots? The triple-changer shrugged helplessly by way of reply. Frankly, the fact that Prime allowed his subordinates to have two of them was already somewhat hard to believe. They had their servos full just trying to keep Megatron's pet Human, Professor Isaac Sumdac, alive!

"Well, it is the best route available to get to our new warehouse," the organic explained to him. "In fact, it's the one right over... there?" The Human's voice faltered into abrupt silence. Both 'Cons stared at the image of the collapsed warehouse, wondering which direction the organic was pointing. They didn't have long to wait before they could deduce the answer. "Oh," the Human concluded in surprised tones, before his voice took on a slightly nervous quality. "N-never mind... I guess we don't need it, after all, what with it being destroyed and everything!" A long pause ensued. "Y' know, yah really ought to consider taking some anger management courses..."

"Anger management courses," Bumblebee repeated in confusion. "Why would I need to...?!" Then he figured out what the strange squishy was implying and took a deep, temperature lowering intake of air through his vents in an obvious effort to control his temper. When he spoke, it was in forced good cheer. "Look, that was an accident, okay?" A short skeptical silence filled the air. "Okay," he admitted in resigned tones. "The warehouse was an accident, and the crash right afterward. I'm sorry I punched the side of your truck. Are you happy, now?" Another vented sigh ensued, this one sounding somewhat morose. "I can't believe this! All I was trying to do was catch up with... Hey, wait a minute, where's Cassie?!"

"Cassie," the Human repeated in confusion. "Which 'Cassie' do yah mean? There's lots of them out there." Instead of getting a reply, great crashing footsteps ensued, followed by the screech of spinning tires racing off into the distance. A small, pot-bellied male organic wandered into view of the camera and scratched the back of his balding head. He spent a long moment studying the wreck his companies newly purchased building had become, then looked off camera toward his damaged truck. Finally, he turned and studied the still open entrance to the Autobot's secret base with an expression of obvious interest. After a long silence, he walked off screen, taking out a cell-phone as he went. "Yeah, boss? We've got a problem..." His small squeaky Human voice, which was already difficult to pick up at this distance, faded beyond comprehension.

Scowling, Blitzwing stopped fiddling with the controls. It was no use! And he wanted to learn what the fleshlings were planning to do in revenge. Organics were always so amusingly ineffective when they tried to attack Cybertronians, and he was curious to see what this particular species would attempt to do. For that matter, what was Bumblebee going to do about their runaway pet? Would Cassidy survive that clumsy oaf's idea of a guardianship? Disappointed, the two 'Cons stared at one another.

"We've really got to send out a few spy drones to that school of hers," Scrapper commented, unknowingly echoing the triple-changer's thoughts. "I'm beginning to feel like we're only getting half of the action."

"Tell me about it," Blitzwing agreed with a disappointed sniffle. Then his red eyes brightened with a look of wild delight and his mouth stretched into a wide fangy smile. "Oooh, wait! Idea!"

_Meanwhile, on the other side of town..._

Like a spider in the middle of a web, Swindle waited. His laser grid was fine tuned to only go off if it detected Cassidy's DNA signature. Then a nearby dart gun would go off, and bingo! One bagged and tagged future employee would be ready and waiting for pick-up! In short, the plan was absolutely brilliant! Too bad he was having second thoughts...

The truth was, 'Mud City' had catapulted itself to the top of the charts far faster than he could have ever predicted. Beings he'd never heard of before were avidly watching it, some not even residing in this dimensional plane! He was raking in the credits! Everyone was clamoring to know what was going to happen next to the undisputed star of the show, Cassidy Jane Nulte. So, how could he possibly stand a chance of 'hiring' her for his latest scam without seeing his reality show plummet down into the smelter? Sigh.

Thankfully, his own kind weren't going to be a problem. Autobots had a longstanding xenophobic policy of non-contact with extraterrestrials... particularly the organic variety. In fact, it had become so all encompassing that even their vid-show programming was banned. The average Cybertronian resident couldn't so much as breath the word 'fleshy' without having his apartment raided and his on-line account hacked by the government!

Equally as ignorant due to entirely different reasons, Decepticons weren't likely to find out, either. They were the most superior creatures in the galaxy! What need did any of his kind have to look at the vid-show programming of a bunch of measly organic creatures? As a rule, 'Cons tended to only watch alien entertainment if they were planning on conquering those particular aliens. Unless Megatron got the bright idea to attempt to take over some other planet than Earth, he was in the clear!

Which brought him back to his current predicament. Where was Cassidy?! Crossly, Swindle scanned his surroundings for the missing organic. Then he checked his internal chronometer for the hundredth time. It was just like her to be late, again! The nerve of that Human! According to the time, she was ten minutes late. Classes had already started and not a soul was in sight. Waiting another two pointless minutes, he at last sighed and took down the laser grid. (And if that sigh had been tinged with relief, he wasn't going to admit it to himself.) Instead, activating his holoform, he climbed out of his alt-mode vehicle and strolled onto campus. He had a fleshling to track down... and hopefully, he'd come up with a solution to his growing monetary crisis.

She turned out to be in her history class. Honestly, he should have looked there first. Making a mental note to track her DNA signature down later in order to figure out what other routes she used to get onto the campus, he pushed the door open... only to blink in surprise. The room was in a state of complete chaos. Desks were clumped together in disorganized piles with their fleshling owners babbling nonsensically at one another. His holoform's programming registered his amused disbelief and did it's level best to translate it into an expression, with eyebrows rising and a quirked up smile. Oh, well, he reflected with a mental shrug. When on Pzzazz, do what the Pzzazzians do. Finally locating his desk, he casually began walking that direction. That's when a large, hairy organic fist grasped his shoulder and turned him around.

"Hold it," Mr. Figueroa drawled. The teacher's bushy gray eyebrows lowering, he peered down at the troublemaker that had just strolled into his classroom fifteen minutes late. "Where's your tardy slip?"

Momentarily caught off-guard, Swindle inquired, "Tardy slip?" He was already hard at work researching what this odd object was when he found himself getting unceremoniously tossed out the door. Too late, the proper definition sprang to the forefront of his HUD just as the door slammed closed. "I have to get written permission to enter a classroom? Talk about a backwards culture! Most species want their organic spawn to advance, not bar them from learning!"

Deciding it would be easier to simply wait out the remainder of first period and catch his Human in the next hour, he spent a very productive forty-two minutes organizing a backlog of sales-requests from the previous day. Unfortunately, the next class had it's own set of problems. Coach Smitty seemed to be overly annoyed by the fact that he wasn't wearing a different outfit. It didn't really make sense, though, did it? Surely someone could exercise in a zoot-suit just as easily as they could in that odd two piece uniform? The instructor didn't agree. Thus, he was ordered to run laps for the rest of the hour... which he didn't do. Oh, something was running around the field. Swindle made sure of that. After running around the designated track once, he lowered his holoform's force-field to save on power, put it on repeat, and focused on customizing the design for a new weapon for one of his more frequent customers.

English class was... unexpectedly interesting. So far, all the teacher had ever done was hide behind his laptop while the class wrote definitions out of the dictionary. It was boring, repetitive work. Swindle usually set his avatar on autopilot and plotted his next 'capture Cassidy' scheme. Today, however, was different. Mr. Kruz began the hour with an announcement. "Um, Class, it has c-come to my attention," he stuttered, nervously wiping the sweat from his forehead. As thirty pairs of eyes focused on him, he swallowed loudly and looked bashfully at the floor. "It's time f-for us to study another novel on our required reading list. With that in mind, I've d-d-decided to leave it up to a vote!" Turning toward the board, he swiftly erased the words they were supposed to define that day and wrote three book titles down in their place. The first one was 'To kill a Mockingbird,' the second one was 'The Glass Menagerie,' and the third one was 'Lord of the Flies.'

"N-now I know," he continued, glancing back at the class. He blushed bright red and hurriedly went back to staring at the board. "I know that a number of you have already read these books in previous grades, but I f-felt that it might be a good idea to reread one of them, just in case you weren't taught properly by o-one of my predecessors. So, who hasn't read 'To Kill a Mockingbird?" Not a soul stirred. Glancing briefly up at his students, Mr. Kruz blushed in nervous embarrassment and swiftly looked at the floor. Turning around, he erased the first book title. "A-and the second one? T-the Glass Menagerie?" Looking back at the class, he again saw that there were no hands raised. The second book title was wiped out under his dry eraser. Cringing worriedly, he mumbled, "T-hen there's the third one, 'L-lord of the Flies?" No-one even blinked. Unhappily, the teacher stared at his shoes. "Anyone," he hopefully prompted. Still, there was no movement. "Surely someone hasn't read this classic?" A shuffle of movement made him hopefully perk up. There, in the back row, was one hand rising above the heads of the other students. "Yes," the English teacher exclaimed happily. "Alright class, I'll pass copies of the book around and l-lets get s-started!"

Groans of despair echoed around the room at his words. Everyone slowly turned around to regard the jerk that had just doomed them to reading 'Lord of the Flies.' Chester smiled innocently back. It was a book Cassidy knew by heart, considering she had been forced to read it every single year since the fifth grade! Every teacher she'd ever had insisted on reading it, under the solid belief that her previous teachers weren't doing their jobs. She'd had to write essays on it, perform gruesome scenes from the movie, and even had to draw artwork of the characters in the story bowing in worship to that stupid rotting pig's head! Argh! She hated that novel! And why did she know the culprit responsible for her misery was the prankster?! At her glower, the zoot-suiter smiled and shrugged. "Well," he protested in amused tones. "I really haven't ever read it!"

Frowning in disgruntled surprise, Swindle watched as she turned around without a word. The Decepticon honestly had no idea why Cassidy was so annoyed with him. He was behaving himself, for Primus sake! Not one bio-weapon had been used against her today! Nonetheless, she still gave him the silent treatment. A loud thump made him look down at the artificial surface of the desk in surprise before he scowled in disgust. Gingerly, he picked up his copy of 'Lord of the Flies,' and stared at the picture on the front cover. Showcased on the front cover, was the artistic rendition of a rotting organic skull covered in small flying insects. Searching the Internet and reading a quick summary about the story made him almost gag! Okay, now he was beginning to understand why the femme was angry at him. Thus, he was not surprised when she avoided him during the next class, and ditched him at the beginning of the lunch period. It was a good thing he knew where her micro-herd were currently meeting now. Too bad he had forgotten about one teensy little problem from yesterday.

There was a huge pit where their dining location used to be. He found Cassidy and her herd clustered together forlornly on the edge of what was, by Human standards, a gigantic chasm. Police caution tape surrounded it on all sides. By Human territorial rights, they were homeless. The wall that they'd claimed as their property was completely obliterated thanks to the excavation efforts of the two Decepticon jets yesterday. It was a melancholy sight. As the huckster stood there, overlooking a muddy pit that used to be an equally muddy park, he couldn't help but feel a vague sense of mourning. It had been a good organic nesting sight... and an incredibly useful trap. Yes, it would be missed.

Weasel came into view, slipping and almost falling into the mud pit in his efforts to reach them quickly. "No can do, Griff," he panted. "I checked around! The jocks commandeered the science labs... and for some reason they all have their hair bleached blond. But, anyways, Ms. Shanahan loves the idea of those guys eating lunch in her classroom, and the jocks aren't sharing space. Then I checked that hidden room in the library that used to be a photography studio, but the book geeks have that place fortified against enemy incursions with all these booby-traps. Man, are they vicious! Last thing I checked was the co-ed bathrooms on the other side of campus, but that wasn't any good either! That one got taken over by the punk crowd. They've transformed the sinks into a combination makeup counter and buffet line! When I asked them if they were okay with us joining in, they tried to give me the swirly of death and I barely escaped!" He was panting by the end of his explanation.

Harriet glanced at Griff, their unofficial leader, wondering, "So... where does that leave us? "Do we go our separate ways? We've all got other crowds we hang out with, so it's not the end of the world."

Silence met her statement. It was true, that they all had clubs, groups, and other interests, but none of them were places where they could just be themselves. That was what their crowd was all about. To just abandon it like that seemed almost like a betrayal of some kind. They were all startled when Griff put on his wrap around sunglasses and abruptly walked away. The others stared owlishly at his retreating back before looking at one another. Frankly, Griffin Nolin was the last person they expected to abandon the group. With the latest in Autobot inspired techo-style clothing, Griff was the coolest one in the group... and the most loyal. He'd insisted that they stick together since the first grade! "Well, come on," he called out, startling them. "I've got an idea." Glancing at one another in growing curiosity, the other teenagers followed him.

Stopping up short when they saw his destination, they stared. He was heading for the theater steps. It was shadowy and spooky, with tall Gothic pillars framing either side and gargoyles decorating random surfaces. Just perfect for the Goth and Emo crowd. His sister, Iris, was very familiar with the place and the people, considering they were her favorite crowd to hang out with when she needed a break from what she politely referred to as 'The Cheerful Ones.' There had to be at least twenty Goths there that day, all sprawled out like lazy lions on the concrete stairs. Some wore elaborate Victorian costumes while others were dressed in simple black jeans and tee-shirts. Reading was the primary pastime. That, or napping until the bell rang. The point was, their territory had been well established since the nineteen-seventies, and they weren't likely to budge for one small displaced group of misfits. 

"Um, Griff," Weasel hurriedly whispered. "Challenging the Goth crowd for their spot on the theater steps isn't the best move... They might look sickly, but they still have really nasty claws. Ow! Case in point! Iris, that hurt!" Backing away, he rubbed his shoulder and gave her a kicked puppy impersonation in an effort to avoid further injury via long sharp nails.

Iris didn't say a word, content to reside under her lace parasol and give the blond a polite smile in return. If Weasel decided to make any other derogatory comments against her fellow Goths, she was perfectly happy to flick him upside the head again. It was a solution that was as simple as it was elegant. Turning, she went back to observing her brother.

Together, they watched as Griff climbed the theater steps, picking his way around lounging Goths with every step, until he was at the main doors to the building. Reaching out, he put his hand on the handle and their eyes widened. "Dude," Weasel whispered. "Is he going to do what I think he is?!"

"He's going to go into the theater during the lunch hour," Harriet murmured, her face growing pale. "If he does that, he'll be committing social suicide." Glancing around, she noted random teenagers all around the courtyard that had turned to look at Griff in sharp surprise. Whispers started up and cell-phones were pulled out into the open. His pale freckled face pinched in worry, Weasel darted up the steps after him, tripping over a napping Goth as he went. Ignoring the string of curse words that erupted behind him, he scrabbled his way up to the top. Reaching the techno-jock's side, he began a frantic, whispered conversation with him while the others continued to watch.

"I don't get it," Swindle muttered, finally deciding to voice his confusion. He had scoured the Internet for a full three minutes and come up with absolutely nothing to explain this odd behavior. "How is going into the theater at this time any different from attending a class in the same building twenty minutes later?"

"Yeah," Cass muttered. "I guess they don't cover this kind of situation when you're home-schooled, do they? If he goes in there without the excuse of going to class, he's a social pariah until graduation day. It's that way for anybody that does that. Nobody will go out with you, people won't want to be seen with you, jocks will beat yah up for no reason..."

Raising her eyebrows at the brunet's words, Harriet wondered, "So, how is that different from our lives, right now? It is true that most of us have other crowds that tolerate us... but no-one wants us to hang out with them permanently. Sooner or later, they kick us out because we aren't quite like everyone else. I think Griff has the right idea."

"You want to make yourself a target, just like that?!" Cassidy stared at her aghast. "Harry, think about what you're saying. Yeah, it's true that most of the people in this school are so selfish that they'd drop their closest friends if it meant they could be popular... but do yah really want to be turned into a target? I can tell yah right now, it isn't fun! I've had to deal with that my whole life. The most recent example is this jerk!" She gestured emphatically at the tacky orange suited bane of her existence that was standing right next to her.

"Yes, but Chester's brand of torment is different," Harriet drawled, not bothering to look at the either one of them. Abandoning the conversation, she strode after Griff and Weasel with purpose in every step. She easily traversed the lounging Goths with enviable grace and stood in her perfectly pleated designer wear dress and gogo boots. Iris was also making her way past her fellow tragic poets and dark romantics to join the rest of her friends at the theater doors. Even Chester was following now! So, with a last warning glare at all of the gossips and malicious, hyena-like camp followers of the popular crowd, Cassidy raced after them. Screw it, Harry was right. They were already social pariahs, why not make it official? She caught up with them just as the double doors were pushed open wide! A faint plume of dust and mildew filled the air, making her cough even as she followed the others inside. There, on the other side of the building beyond a sea of chairs, was the stage. The double doors closed with a sense of finality and that was it. As of now, they were the high-school equivalent of outlaws.

Not knowing what else to do, Cassidy began shuffling around. The theater was dim, dusty, and antiquated... Just like it always was. It was just that without a play or a skit to do, she didn't know what to occupy her time with in here. Even talking seemed to be somehow disrespectful. Every shuffling footfall echoed in the all encompassing silence. A loud thud filled the air, making her jump and spin around in alarm. Then she wrinkled her nose and fought not to smile.

Only one lonely piece of padded furniture was in the theater. Abandoned on the loading bay out back, the sofa had been claimed and jealously guarded by the stagehands who had discovered it and hauled it. With good reason. Even though it was huge and threadbare, with stuffing falling out in random places and a distinct odor... it was also the comfiest thing anybody had ever sat in! Unfortunately, everybody knew it. It was always being fought over by a dozen actors in training whenever they weren't practicing their art. Now Harriet sat right in the middle of it, her arms flung out wide over the seat on either side and a blissful expression on her face.

"Hey," Weasel squawked self-righteously as he marched over to his sister. Propping his hands on his hips, he glared down at Harriet indignantly. "That's theater property and you aren't an actress!"

"So?" Harriet gazed up at her brother challengingly. They weren't twins, though they might as well be. The same height, the same lean build, and similar levels of intelligence with all things electronic were what they had in common. Her nose wrinkled in vague disgust as she took in the appearance of her silently fuming younger brother. There were several key differences, however. For one thing, she had apparently inherited all the fashion sense in the family, and for another... he was incredibly ineffective in a fight!

Growing fed up with trying to convince his sister to abandon the sacred, and incredibly luxurious couch, he attempted to wrestle her off. Ten minutes later, he was pinned down in a painful half-nelson and begging for mercy. She didn't let him loose until he'd promised her complete ownership of the couch, the stage surrounding the couch up to a five foot radius, and the occasional use of his antique DVD player. Then she let him up. He scowled at her as she, yet again settled on the comfy couch, before searching through his jeans pockets for his lunch. Locating a tofu sandwich (with extra curry) in his back pocket, he bit into it as he wandered off.

Griff, meanwhile, had found the piano. It was old and a little worn out, but it still had good sound. More importantly, the music class hadn't bothered to put it back into the unused side room they usually stored it in. Sitting down on the bench, he flexed his fingers experimentally, and began to play. A relaxing atmosphere began to take effect. By the time the lunch hour ended, Cassidy was relaxing on the comfy couch with Harriet, and sometimes fending off another annoying prank from Chester. Ducking at the last second, she twisted around and glared up at his grinning face while he hid something suspicious behind his back. This started a verbal battle that lasted the rest of the lunch hour. All in all, by the time fifth period arrived, they were all feeling pretty good about themselves, again. Harriet took off for her manicuring class just as the rest of the theater troop shuffled into view. They ignored the wary glances they received as they settled into the theater seats amongst them, more intent on their teacher as she came striding up on stage.

"Attention," their drama teacher, Ms. Misty Tannon declared, as she clapped her hands three times. "Now, I know you're all aware of the time-crunch the school imposed on us with the bumped up theater schedule. That means that today we're going to do our Shakespeare assignments a little out of the ordinary...Relay Style." Groans filled the room and she raised her hands for order. "I can tell that some of you remember this from last year. For those of you who have never done it, here are the rules. I've got the play titles jumbled up in a hat. When your group is called, ready or not, happy or terrified, you're running up on that stage and performing!" A now fully informed class moaned in unison. The teacher smiled apologetically and performed an exaggerated shrug. "Hey, it's not my fault that we have to do this rushed. Just consider it future training. Directors will be expecting the same sort of spontaneity in the real world. It's just that in this case, you'll be getting a grade rather than a paycheck."

Lifting up an old battered top hat that looked like it had been used to decorate several generations of snowmen, Misty dug her hand around inside. A tense silence grew as every teenager waited and prayed that their play wouldn't get drawn. With a flourish, she withdrew a thin strip of notebook paper, looked at it, then slowly lifted her eyes toward the class. "As You Like It' is onstage," she exclaimed loudly. "Move, Move, Move!" Instantly, Miles and LeRoy sprang out of their seats and raced for the stage. They both had the most school-wide absences due to killer allergy attacks, but miraculously had managed to make it to class today. Their co-star, a shy little Freshman girl, hesitantly followed after them.

Cassidy waited until the trio had begun reciting their lines before making her move. Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, she snuck something small, thin, and plastic under Weasel's palm. The blond tucked it into his coat sleeve just as Ms. Tannon turned her head. Suspiciously, she eyed the two of them. Not a muscle twitched under her scrutiny. A round of applause rose up all around them and the teacher twisted around and beamed up at the stage. "Good job, guys," she praised as the three that had just finished their lines, gratefully bowed. "You especially, Annie, you really took the initiative! Next up... 'Twelfth Night'-GO!"

In the meantime, Cassidy and Weasel were busy. Taking the object he'd been given, which turned out to be a compact disc, the sneak-thief glanced at it before casting a squint-eyed, questioning look toward his friend. For an answer she pointed toward herself and then waved her script around. Looking down at the disc again, the blond then stared at her like she was crazy and shook his head. He started to pass it back, but Cass insistently pushed it back towards him. 'Yes,' she mouthed, nodding exaggeratedly, before twisting around and plucking up Swindle's coat sleeve the same way one would hold up a naughty puppy. She presented the zoot-suiter's limp hand like a merchant displaying the latest overpriced sales item in a commercial.

Swindle jerked away and scowled at her. Logically, the Decepticon was well aware that she wasn't actually touching him. It was just... yuck! The acidic, oily fingerprints, the microscopic skin flakes,...the parasites?! There was a reason why Cybertronians considered Organics disgusting, not least of which was their bodily excretions, it was also the fact that their optical vision was thousands of times more detailed than that of the average Human. He was brushing his holoform's arm clean with a well placed static burst before he could stop himself. Aside from a brief, confused glance in his direction at the electrical crackles he made, Cassidy and Weasel resumed their silent conversation. Frankly, he was rather amused by their antics. If he wanted to have a private chat with a fellow Cybertronian, all he had to do was send a heavily encrypted message via subspace and wait for a reply. Apparently, this species had to go for a more overt method. Again, the teacher turned their way, and yet again, both Humans had turned and were obediently watching the stage with bored expressions on their faces. Cass even had the audacity to give Ms. Tannon a confused, questioning look.

Applause erupted from the surrounding crowd and the teacher faced forward again. "Alright," she praised, clapping as well. Looking vaguely ill, the two geeky looking Sophomores up on stage waited for a verdict on their portrayal of 'Julius Caesar.' "Wonderful work you two! I really felt that knife stroke! And next up is..." She rummaged around for a moment in the upside-down top hat before announcing, "Much Ado About Nothing,' you're up!"

Unlucky actors scrabbled for the stage like wolves were nipping at their heels, while the ones who hadn't been picked yet breathed an audible sigh of relief. As soon as they began reciting their lines, Cassidy resumed her 'conversation' with Weasel. Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she entreated the blond with big tearful eyes. The sneak-thief shook his head and mouthed, 'No,' while firmly ignoring the deadly manipulative power of the kicked puppy expression. Subtly pointing at the teacher, he then tapped the compact disc with one index finger, and followed this with a slashing motion across his neck. 'She won't let me,' he silently indicated before casting an apologetic glance at her. 'Sorry.'

Begging him to change his mind, Cassidy leaned over the chair with her hands folded in silent entreaty. Weasel's response was to cross his arms and stick his rather prominent nose in the air in silent refusal. Swindle almost laughed out loud when both Humans abruptly dropped any and all extraneous movements and sat in their chairs like manikins just as the teacher turned her head. Frowning at them suspiciously, she studied first one, then the other in search of lies. The Decepticon was somewhat surprised when Ms. Tannon then cast a wary glance his way. Schooling his holoform's features to the usual sales-perfect smile, he raised one holographic eyebrow questioningly. A long moment passed by before she went back to watching the performances.

As the two organics went back to their, somewhat entertaining pantomimed conversation, Swindle glanced around to see if the other Humans had noticed. Most weren't paying attention, feverishly reading their scripts and mouthing out words, and not caring about anyone else. When it was time to announce the next play, they would applaud, anxiously await the next play to be selected, and then go back to reading their scripts. No-one seemed to care about any other performance but their own! _Yet, isn't that usually the way of the universe_, Swindle mused with a silent laugh. _People only caring about themselves... I just find it hilarious that each of these organics are completely convinced that the others will be watching them when they can't even spare an astro-second for anyone else!_

Politely clapping when Hamlet finished his scene with Ophelia, he waited until the next unfortunate victims grimly raced for the stage floor. Then he considered Cassidy and Weasel's much more entertaining performance. Apparently, she had decided on a different method of persuasion...bribery. Nudging the sneak-thief to gain his attention, she pointed at herself, then she pointed at him and mouthed one word: 'Favor.'

Tilting his head in surprise, Weasel seemed to be genuinely intrigued. Then a stubborn expression came over his pale organic features. Shaking his head in dismissal, the blond focused on the actors on stage with an air of indifference.

Now Cassidy looked insulted. For a long moment, she glared at him. Then she rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. Reaching out, she grudgingly tapped Weasel's shoulder again. At his glance, she heaved an over the top sigh of defeat and slumped theatrically. Pointing at herself again a little more emphatically, then stabbing the air in his direction, she finished off her expression with an arms wide open movement. 'Fine,' she mouthed. 'A BIG FAVOR! Happy now?!'

Icy blue eyes growing wide, Weasel stared at her as if she'd declared that Christmas was being celebrated right now instead of three months in the future. In honest amazement, he silently asked, 'Really?!' Cassidy resignedly nodded. In a fit of sheer joy, the blond proceeded to perform a foot tapping, fist shaking happy dance in his theater chair.

"Tempest,' is on stage," Ms. Tannon declared authoritatively, glaring over her shoulder at the tap dancer in the seat behind her. He had the grace to cringe at her by way of an apology. She rolled her eyes. "Very cute, Walcott, but the performance is up there, now MOVE!" Scrambling to his feet, the blond practically leaped over the theater seats in his efforts to escape the wrath of the teacher. His co-stars, a pair of pretty girls, were already on stage waiting for him. Hunching his shoulders and cracking a gruesome expression, he proceeded to give the best Detroit accented Caliban theater goers had ever seen! Too bad nobody was bothering to pay attention.

Giving into his curiosity, Swindle picked up the abandoned disc. One glimpse of the cover and his holographic eyebrows shot up into his hairline in surprise. The next instant, a small Human hand snatched it safely out of reach. Cassidy held it protectively close while favoring him with a distrustful glare. Rolling his pixilated eyes at her antics, he slowly shook his head. He had an inkling of an idea about what the organic planned to do during their upcoming Shakespeare performance, and frankly, it sounded rather amusing.

"Midsummer Night's Dream," Ms. Tannon announced, each word ponderously spoken like a death knell. "And I'll take that..." Reaching out to confiscate the disc that everyone was so preoccupied with, someone beat her to it.

Racing through at top speed, Weasel grabbed the compact disc without breaking his stride. "Hi, Ms. Tannon," he breathlessly greeted, even as he ran by. "Bye, Ms. Tannon!" He hit the metal staircase leading to the scaffolding at the back of the theater in the next instant. And, just to save time, he skipped every other step on his way up to the top.

"Walcott Whitney Weisel the third, don't you dare run up there," Misty barked warningly, a gimlet glare in her eyes. Already halfway down one of the cat-walks, Weasel barely put on the brakes before he could crash one metal landing into another. The last thing the blond wanted was his second story privileges revoked. Then, waving down at the teacher to reassure her, he began walking at a more sedate pace. "That's better..." She eyed the blond in growing curiosity before inquiring, "By the way, why are you up there? You know we aren't doing anything more major today than the main stage lights."

"Uh," Weasel began nervously before plastering on an insincere grin. "Ask Cass," he suggested helpfully, before ducking into the sound-booth to hide. The door shut before she could interrogate him any further.

Warning of imminent destruction via excess work assignments, Ms. Tannon intoned, "Cassidy..." Looking toward the now empty seat, she realized that it was too late. The brunet in question had managed to escape, temporarily at least! She was standing on stage attempting to glare holes through her co-star while he smiled smugly right back. It was almost like they were opponents in a boxing ring, with Chester sporting his orange checkered zoot-suit and constant smile, and Cassidy in her ripped up street clothes and poker face. The two of them didn't look like they would ever get along. Frowning, the teacher leaned back in her chair and waited. There would be plenty of time to reprimand her for breaking the rules after the performance.

Saxophone music began a slow, lazy weave though the air while the lights dimmed to a subtle glow. Swindle eyed Cass with wary amusement as she removed a small, commonly worn red hat from the nineteen-twenties, and put it on top of her curly head. It was obviously too tiny to properly shade a fleshling's skin from the bright sunshine. This was why there was a veil attached to the front, just long enough to cover a person's nose and cheekbones. He'd observed her searching through the props closet during lunch and had attempted to discover what she'd dug up. Now that he knew what it was, he thought the sight was rather amusing. So, she wanted to move the plays time period up to the Jazz era of her planet's history? Oh, why not? Smirking, she struck a mocking pose with her hands on her hips and dared him to do his worst! With one pixilated eyebrow raised, he decided to do just that! Stepping into the scene, he shook his head disapprovingly and scolded, "Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!"

"What?" Turning her head, she acted as if she'd just noticed his presence. Rolling her eyes, she chided knowingly, "Jealous Oberon?" Strutting away, one hand on her hip and her eyes cast toward the rafters, she gestured imperiously. "Fairies, skip hence! I have forsworn his bed..." Another assessing glance, this time with a sneer of disgust. "...And company."

An exaggerated pout fell over Swindle's holographic features at her words which earned a smattering of laughter from their audience. At his antics, Cassidy sighed in exasperation and continued walking away. Swiftly, he chased after her and caught her hand, blurting out with a hasty smile, "Tarry, rash wanton?" She hesitated as she stared back at him. Adding an extra dose of charm to his expression, he led her back to center stage. "Am I not thy Lord?"

"Then I must be thy Lady," Cass sarcastically replied, earning more laughter. She tried to pull her hand free only to find herself getting pulled extra close by impossibly strong muscles! 'It's funny,' she silently reflected, her eyes widening in surprise. 'He doesn't look even vaguely athletic...' About that point, she realized he was drawing her into a very intimate embrace and panicked. 'Oh, no you don't!'. Gritting her teeth and digging her heals into the stage floor wasn't doing a thing to stop him. Frantically, she searched her brain for a solution to avoid anything uncomfortably romantic! That's when inspiration struck. Coaching her voice to a tone that was designed to carry throughout the audience chamber she purred the next line in the play to a dangerous level, "But I know when thou hast stolen away to fairy land."

Playing along, he cringed as if he'd been caught doing something naughty. Dark purple eyes warily assessed her expression. Raising a finger to contest this point, his mouth opened wide with an excuse, but she interrupted him. "And in the shape of Corin, sat all day, playing on pipes of corn," she continued as if she was imparting some kind of secret knowledge. He gulped nervously and stepped away. Then spinning around to confront her, he opened his mouth to find another excuse, only to be caught out again with her next words. Innocently batting her eyes, she inquired, "And versing love to amorous Philida?"

Faking a look of embarrassment, Swindle shuffled a few steps away and let out a deliberate cough. The truth was that acting was very much a part of what Swindle did on a regular basis. A fake smile here, a little helpful enthusiasm for a hesitant customer there, it's just what the rules of the game were and he was good at it. What he didn't do, was work with a partner. He'd found that the vast majority of sales-personnel out there were anything but spontaneous. They had to have a script, they couldn't ad-lib or think outside the box, and they always demanded a cut of the pay! Right now, though, he wasn't working for a pay-check. He was in a dingy little organically constructed theater building, operating a holographic puppet, and strangely having the time of his life! Cassidy was actually pretty good at this! Present her with a little comic relief... and she was taking full advantage of it like a professional! Deciding to see just how good she was, he changed tactics.

"But that forsooth, the bouncing Amazon," she began, only to pause and stare in curiosity at her co-star. She wondered for one ironic moment if he had forgotten his lines. That would have been a hilarious twist, considering how much he'd teased her yesterday about it. And yet somehow, it didn't look real! Warily, she eyed him in search of a trick.

'Amazon,' Swindle silently mouthed, a deliberate quizzical expression descending over his holographic features. Lifting his eyes toward the ceiling as if in deep thought, he began silently sounding out a long string of previous girlfriends his character had been seeing. Each name was counted out on his fingers as he listed them off. A twinkle of amusement entered her eyes and she played off of his ad-libing like they'd been rehearsing this for days. Prompting him, she continued, "Your buck skinned mistress?" When this still didn't seem to ring any bells, more laughter rose up. She gave one more prompt, "And your warrior love?" Confusion still decorated his face, and she sighed in exasperation. "To Theseus must be wed?!"

Abruptly, Swindle acted like his memory core had just finally kicked in and he smiled in fond remembrance. Cassidy faked a fit of annoyance and marched off in a huff. Pretending to forget who his present company was, he knowingly nodded to himself! More laughter followed his ad-libbing, along with a few derogatory comments about unfaithful men.

Then Cassidy seemed to loose her rage. Turning, she regarded Chester with an exasperated sigh. Her arms crossed, she inquired, "And you come to give their bed joy and prosperity?"

"How canst thou thus?" Spinning on his heal, Swindle gave her a look of mock outrage, and crossed his arms imperiously. "For shame, Titania!" At that point, he went back to the script. Declaring his undying innocence of all wrongdoing, then turning the tables and accusing her of sleeping around, instead. When she retorted with a long string of all the places they'd ever had a major knock-down drag out fight, he inserted a few more visual jokes.

"Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain," She declared self-righteously. "As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea Contagious fogs..." Pacing to hide her nervousness over forgetting even one word in such a long, ponderous speech, she continued. "Which, falling on the land... Hath made every pelting river made so proud that they have overborne their continents!"

"Maybe the kid's are acting up a little," he admitted in sheepish tones, ducking out of the script entirely. "But it's not like one little prank spells the end of the world!" Okay, so their characters weren't technically parents, but it was called a fantasy for a reason! He was interested in seeing if Cassidy would catch on to this idea and run with it or not.

"Considering the flood the youngest one caused, it might as well be," Cass sassed right back. This earned a surprised laugh from the teacher. Going back to the script, she waited for the next surprise zinger from her co-star. Cassidy was in her element and she loved every minute of it! She'd practiced her lines and dissected the characters to their basic elements all night long. Then, at three in the morning, she'd been hit with inspiration! Forget the fact that they were fairies! They were a married couple with their relationship on the rocks, pure and simple! Oberon was a bed hopping cheating bastard. He'd been doing it for years and her character, Titania, was fed up with it and had filed for a separation! Unfortunately, they'd both been invited to the same wedding by mutual friends who had no idea about what was going on! On top of that, they had a son to consider! Cue the infighting! It had drama, romance, comedy, the works! As long as they played it right.

That's when she'd been struck by her second burst of inspiration. Since Chester was so insistent on wearing a zoot-suit all the time, she'd use it! Adding a hint of World War Two into the play gave it just enough of a new flavor to interest the audience. What she hadn't expected was for the prankster to be so good at thinking on his feet! Most actors got insanely annoyed with her whenever she tried to ad-lib. They complained about it not being in the script, or that she was upstaging them somehow! It always frustrated her that she couldn't explore the character a little more without getting chewed out by her co-stars. But this, with the little one-liners and pantomiming,was fun! "The fold stands empty in the drowned field," she continued. "And crows are fatted with the murrion flock. The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud, And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, for lack of tread, are indistinguishable."

"His Principal did call me about that," Chester sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Adopting a ruefully proud expression, he gazed contemplatively toward the ceiling. "It's amazing what an elementary school kid can get up to with a sprinkler system and five gallons of paint."

"He gets it from you," she reminded him, earning a smattering of applause. Then she went back to her lines. "The human mortals want their winter here! No night with hymn or carol blest! Therefore, the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air, that rheumatic diseases do abound."

"Look, our oldest girl isn't that out of control," Swindle interjected chidingly. "Okay, I'll admit it's a little jarring watching her walk around in gothic makeup and listening to punk rock music... But, deep down inside, she's still our little girl. This is just a phase she's going through."

"If she plays heavy metal at three in the morning again," Cassidy replied. "She's going to be living with you, for a while!" Striding toward him, she continued, "And through this distemperature we see the seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds is, as mockery, set! The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter..."

"You're the one that wanted to name our kids that," Swindle drawled, rolling his eyes. "Not me."

"Changed their wonted liveries," she declared as if she blamed him for some terrible crime. "And the mazed world, by their increase, now knows not which is which!"

"About that cross dressing thing," Swindle interrupted, rubbing the back of his holoform's head in an imitation of embarrassment. He looked down at the wood stage and shuffled his pixilated loafers. "I might have been drunk at the time..." Snickers met his mock admission, and... his smile sharped with true amusement as he caught sight of Cassidy's expression. She was about to break out of character into a laughing fit! As he watched, she devoted a supreme amount of effort toward keeping a straight face. Maybe she bit her fleshy tongue? It was still hilarious to watch!

Taking the tone of her voice down, she assumed as regretful an expression as possible, and continued in sad tones, "And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate... From our dissension. We are their parents and original."

"Well, I wouldn't say the kids are evil," Swindle blustered, and was rewarded by a surprised chuckle from their audience. "Maybe a little misunderstood, but not..." Softening his holoform's features as if he felt sorry for her, he gently ran a hand through her keratin follicles. "I'll talk to them," he promised. Mentally shrugging, he went back to the original script. "Do you amend it, then? It lies in you. Why should Titania cross her Oberon?"

This was the end of the scene. Oh, maybe it wasn't the end of the scene as Shakespeare intended it, but if they went all the way, they'd get past the five minute mark and be up here forever! Still, as the lights dimmed, she couldn't help but get in the last word. Propping a hand on one hip, she sassed, "What, you're referring to yourself in third person, now? Aren't we feeling high and mighty!" Chester's eyes, which had been gazing at her tenderly, abruptly flared with amused mischief... and she could swear they were glowing bright lavender for a split second. He opened his mouth to retort, and the lights went completely out, followed by loud applause! A little unsettled by that weird glow, she did her level best to put a little extra bravado into her next taunt. "Better luck next time, Hon." The lights came back on and Cass turned to stroll off the stage like a conquering hero, only to have her hand snagged from behind. "Gaah?!"

"Can't leave the stage without reaping the rewards, kid," Swindle reminded her with a wink. Putting actions to words, he bowed extravagantly toward their audience. Cassidy rolled her eyes but decided to comply. Together, they elegantly bowed to cheering applause.

"Great job, you two," Ms. Tannon warmly complemented before getting back to business. "A little avaunt-guard with the non-Shakespeare thrown in there, and you can be grateful that some real fanatics weren't listening to you mangle the scene, but still, very inventive. Now, down off the stage and back in your seats! Come on people, we have six more plays to get to and nineteen minutes left! Romeo and Juliet! You're on stage, now!"

Cass was only too happy to comply. Now that she no longer needed them, she could already feel the lines fading from her mind. It was just a relief not to have that assignment looming over her head. Even the fact that Chester was holding her hand and taking grandiose bows for the audience wasn't enough to phase her. Oh, why not? He'd never flubbed a line or missed a cue! The zoot-suiter deserved a little face-time. Still, it wasn't fair to the next guys to hog the stage. Reluctantly towing him along, she headed for the main stairs down to the audience chamber. That was when disaster struck...literally!

Just as she was turning her head to warn Chester to not step on her heals again, something slammed into her at mach-two! Stars exploded into her eyes and she was sent reeling to land on her back, hard! Then there was silence. A hushed babble of voices filled her head, sounding vaguely worried. 'Oh, no,' Cass silently moaned as she attempted to blink the flashing lights away. 'Not now! The last thing I need is another concussion! Okay, breath! Even if it feels like I just slammed into a brick wall, that doesn't mean it really happened!'

Slowly, all the flashing lights solidified into one light. She squinted at it confusedly. That was when a face hovered into view. Gazing down at her with big, worried, puppy dog eyes, Robby the star football player wondered, "Hey, Cass? Are yah okay? Sorry about, er... body slamming yah into the orchestra pit like that! I wasn't really watching where I was going."

"Are you kidding?" Chester barged into view, shoving Robby out of the way like a twenty-pound weakling. "Of course she's okay! Look, I'll prove it! Cassidy, quick! How many fingers am I holding up?"

Glaring nearsightedly at the hand that had abruptly been thrust in her face, she drawled, "Chester, if that's the hand gesture I think it is, you're about to get a broken finger."

"Hah, hah," Chester performed a perfectly executed fake laugh straight out of a car dealership. "See? She's fine!"

"Hmmm...I don't know," Ms. Tannon drawled, looking down at her skeptically. "That was still quite a knock you took. Cassidy, how do you feel? We could always send you home for the rest of the day."

Opening her mouth to say yes, Cass suddenly paused as her brain caught up with her. That phone call wouldn't go to her parents. It would go to a bunch of kill-happy alien lunatics that didn't know the difference between a bandage and a spot welder! Suddenly, she was wide awake. "NO," she yelped, flailing back. At the startled looks her outburst earned, the brunet plastered on her sincerest smile. "I'm fine! Really! Don't worry about me..." Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she did her level best to stop the room from spinning. "I've been through way worse than this!"

Hesitantly, Ms. Tannon began, "Well, if you're sure..." She tilted her head as she watched the brunet do a peculiar wobbly walk toward the stairs and winced, starting forward. The teacher needn't have worried. In seconds, Chester and Robby were on either side of her, eager to help. Then they caught sight of one another and glared. 'Oh, yeah,' the teacher thought, ruefully shaking her head. 'Those two really have it bad for her...' Muttering about not being an invalid, Cassidy shoved them aside and staggered down the steps under her own power. Both boys pouted in disappointment at her retreating back, before glaring at one another and hurrying to catch up. Rolling her eyes, the teacher concluded, 'And Cass is completely oblivious.'

Plonking down in an empty chair, Cassidy sighed, happy to be away from the crowd. Abruptly, Chester and Robby landed in the seats on either side of her, chattering a series of questions at her that all boiled down to: "Are you alright?" Slumping in unhappy despair, she didn't notice the competitive glares they were aiming each other over her head. All that really registered was that their discussion had turned into an argument... and it was getting louder. "Guys," she groaned while massaging her aching head. Attempting to be civil in her extremely polite request that they SHUT UP, she continued, "I'm grateful for the help, really." A big meaty hand, that could only belong to Robby the star quarter-back, gently scooped up her palm and stroking her knuckles as if it was an injured kitten. She gritted her teeth and pulled away. "But you don't have to treat me like I'm some kind of delicate china doll." The verbal battle continued. "What I'm trying to say is..." Then Chester draped an arm across her shoulders in a possessively friendly gesture while glaring at the competition.

Stiffening at the unexpected contact, Cassidy looked at the hand attached to that particular arm and scowled. It was dangerously close to her left boob. Barely restraining the urge to slam a fist into his face, she plucked his arm up by the sleeve, and dropped it, rat-like, back into the lap of it's owner. The zoot-suiter glanced down in puzzled surprise at his manhandled arm. Then, mentally shrugging, he went back to his argument with the football player.

_Honestly, I should have seen this coming_, Swindle silently mused as he went back to the verbal battle he was in the middle of. _This is such a primitive species. It only stands to reason they would have competitive mating rituals._ Frankly, he found it somewhat hilarious that he was taking part in any kind of fight to begin with! Briefly, he entertained the idea of arranging a little accident for the idiotic fleshling that was attempting to take HIS future employee. Then he nixed the idea as a waste of time. _I mean, why should I even bother? My holoform is absolutely irresistible! There's no way she could possibly ignore the sheer perfection I've put into this program! _

Misty watched in alarm as Cassidy's left eye began to twitch and her fists clenched in growing rage. Before any violence could occur, she cleared her throat authoritatively. "Gentlemen, the goal was to get her to a chair," she reminded them pointedly. "Not to argue her to death. Now, lets get back to acting. Robby, you're scene is up now. Remember?"

A pout crossed Robby's features as he glumly climbed to his feet and walked over to the stage to prepare for his role. Chester smiled in smug triumph and waved goodbye at the football player's back. Misty rolled her eyes. "And Mr. Ivory," she continued. "Why don't I take it from here? You know, before Cassidy gives in to those homicidal tenancies?" Now it was the zoot-suiter's turn to pout. She waited until he had shuffled off to join the other students before sitting down quietly next to her. Together, they watched the performance in silence, before Ms. Tannon decided to talk. "There's no harm in heading home early," she suggested. "We'll still respect you just as much."

"Ms. Tannon," Cassidy replied after a long silence. "I realize you're worried about me. But the fact is... considering my current roommates, I'm way safer in this theater than I ever would be back there. Trust me on this." At the worried frown the teacher favored her with, she grimaced a smile. Then, slumping, she focused on the performance on stage. In her opinion, today couldn't end fast enough.


	14. Chapter 14

Counterfeit

Chapter 14: Roadblocks

By: Mooncrossed

_Hey, everybody! This chapter was really difficult to type, but I got through it. I'd like to thank Tinyterror (Glad you liked it),Sunnysides (Whoops, sorry about that! As far as Cassidy is concerned, some truths are too horrifying to recognize. Having Swindle in your graduating class is one of those things. Happy I made you laugh), to XxShadowfangxX (Yup, Blitzy has a plan... Bwahahaha!), and for thiefkingbakura1 (Smiles. Yep, happy you're enjoying the story). I'd also like to apologize to TastesLikeSTFU for forgetting to say thank you. You offered a lot of good advice and encouragement when I really needed it. Thanks for the help. I don't own Transformers or walky-talky's. This chapter is dedicated to my parents, for their advice, and God, for inspiring me. And now, on with the story. _

_At that moment in Detroit High..._

Walking in the door to her sixth period Algebra class, Cass witnessed what was starting to turn into a very familiar sight. There Chester stood, looking less than pleased and waving a bundle of papers around. "Unbelievable," he ranted. "I did the assignment!"

"No, you copied down the answers," Mr. Li replied, not bothering to look up from the homework he was grading. "I do not know what possessed you to write such gibberish in place of true mathematics, not that it matters. You will need to have further tutoring after class." Pausing, the teacher eyed the next student in line with a raised eyebrow. Pointedly, he stated, "Thank you, Cassidy."

"What," the brunet wondered, feeling a vague sense of growing horror. "HE'S staying after class? B-but I have detention, and he..." Her mouth hanging open in stupefied alarm, she looked first at Chester, then at her Algebra teacher. 'Mr. Li wouldn't,' she thought. 'He just wouldn't trap me in a tiny little classroom for two hours alone with this...this...zoot-suited pain in the butt! Isn't it bad enough I have to endure his company six and a half hours every week day?!' Judging by her teacher's usual bland expression, she concluded that he just honestly didn't care.

Reaching out, Mr. Li graciously accepted the homework assignments from her limp hand and placed them on his desk. Then he stared at her. Taking the hint, Cassidy wandered slowly toward her empty desk. Her only consolation was that Chester didn't look any happier about this turn of events than she did. Mumbling to himself in some strange foreign language, he stalked past her and gracefully sank into his chair like a dancer. She was even feeling a certain level of empathy with him... until he gave her mane a solid yank. This was swiftly followed by the scent of burning hair. Twisting around, her hands already forming into fists, she glared at the zoot-suiter. There he sat, with something that looked like a futuristic pencil sharpener in his hands and a disgruntled expression on his dusky face. Maybe he was upset abou the fact that smoke was beginning to pour out of one side of it? Whipping around her curly brown locks, it was to see the very tip shriveled and smoking... Her hands clenched into fists.

"Miss Nulte," the teacher quietly stated, making Cassidy freeze. He only ever called a student by their last name when they were in trouble. Slowly looking back, she reluctantly considered Mr. Li's calm expression. In his hands was the monster homework assignment she'd just handed in. "These answers are all incorrect."

The brunet stared at him for a long moment before burying her face in her arms. She'd stayed up all night just to finish that thing, and it was wrong?! Life sucked...and Chester was laughing at her. Scowling, she dug her heal viciously into his foot, or at least, she tried. His patent leather loafer scooted out of range at the last second. Eying the teacher with hopeful eyes, she wondered, "You're kidding, right?" It was possible Mr. Li had suddenly grown a sense of humor for the first time this school year. Hah, hah, funny joke! Only, he wasn't smiling... and he looked extremely serious. Sighing, the teenager slumped into her seat. He wasn't kidding. Briefly, she wondered what Bumblebee was doing out there, before hurriedly abandoning that train of thought. After ditching him in the school parking lot with plaster dust and dents all over his armor, there was no way he'd stick around. Right?

_While simultaneously..._

Bumblebee was bored, Bored, BORED! He'd gotten tired of dwelling in the parking lot in his alt-mode five hours ago! Now he was trying to find new and creative ways to break school rules. "Stupid no-robots on campus rule," the scout mumbled, crossing his mechanical arms. So far, walking through the main entrance didn't work. Neither had stepping over the fence. Tip-toeing across the athletic field around the craters the Decepticons had left yesterday had earned a lot of terrified screams. And if that wasn't bad enough, they'd added a new rule! Cars weren't allowed to drive on the sidewalk! Making sure to use English, he raised his vocals and complained, "Yeesh, that security guard's a grouch! Just as bad as Prowl!" This, in his opinion, was the epitome of insults.

Officer James Samuels was a decent guy, some might even call him a little too nice, but there was no way he was going to turn around and get into an argument with a two story tall killer robot! It was bad enough he was seeing things. If he saw one more teenager randomly appear and disappear, he was going to demand time off. Hunching his shoulders until he was around the corner, the didn't breath easy until he was out of sight. He really needed a new line of work.

Despite the fact that the Human wasn't looking, Bee stuck his glossa out at him anyway! _Stupid school rules_, he silently moaned, before an unhappy frown abruptly descended over his metallic features. _And now I'm bored again!_ Tapping a pede restlessly on the tarmac, he contemplated his dilemma. _Cassie's probably having a lot more fun than me. All I'm supposed to do is sit in this same stupid parking space for hours on end, or else run patrols around the campus over and over. Sigh. The organics have the better end of this deal. They sit in classrooms and raised their hands a bunch of times, or play adorable little games while an older organic screamed orders at them. At least, that's what I saw by leaning over the parking lot fence and squinting through the windows. Then that stupid campus cop had to chase me off!_

_Yeash, what is his problem?! It's not like I'm breaking any rules_, Bumblebee silently groused to himself. _They said no robots on campus, but I wasn't standing on campus! Leaning over the wall isn't the same thing! _Pouting, he fiddled with a bush in a nearby planter._ How can Prowl stand to do this kind of slag every day? _Transforming into his alt-mode and back again, just to pass the time, the scout sighed._ All he does is sit on his tires day in and day out. Okay, maybe he'd run the occasional patrol... Arrgh! My processor is about to rust over just thinking about it! _Clutching his helm, he faked a micro-chip meltdown, complete with an over the top death scene. But there was nobody watching, so with a sigh, he went back to thinking. Lying down on his back in the parking space, he folded his servos behind his helm, crossed his giant robotic legs, and gazed up at the passing clouds._ Then again, meditating is kind of all he ever does, anyway. Well, that, and he likes to practice fight with all those circuit-su moves..._ He jolted upright in sudden realization. _Wait, that's it!_

"Prowl's a ninja," Bumblebee mumbled to himself, a slow smile growing on his face-plates. "And ninjas specialize in not being seen..." All of a sudden, the scout could have kicked himself in the skid-plates. It was obvious that his fellow soldier was doing way more than meditating. _That cheater probably sneaks onto campus all the time and nobody even knows about it_, he silently fumed, crossing his arms. A new thought occurred to him and his eyes began to glow extra bright. Lifting up his head, he regarded the high school speculatively as a smile began to inch across his face-plates. _Which gives me a really cool idea... _

Bee would never say it, but privately, he thought Prowl was a pretty cool 'Bot. All those Cirucuit-su fighting moves... the way he could sneak up on people... Especially the way he could sneak up on people, really sort of impressed the scout. Of course, he'd never tell the two-wheeler this! That sort of knowledge would make the tactician disgustingly smug! And beyond that, the younger mech had his pride! Nothing stopped him from copying a move or three, however.

Sneakily, careful to avoid making it look too obvious, he turned his helm to watch the organic campus cop's movements. _Argh! Could that Human move any slower?!_ Resisting the urge to scream at the man to 'Hurry the frag up,' he instead displayed an admirable show of patience. Tapping the pavement with one servo, he vented an annoyed sigh and checked his internal chronometer. Five whole clicks had gone by! Another glance proved that the organic was still in sight! He began tapping a pede against the ground, now. How was he supposed to be all invisible like Prowl when it was taking forever for everyone to go away?! It took another eight agonizing clicks for the organic to walk out of sight. "Finally," he mumbled, standing up. "Why does this species have to meander so much?"

About to take a step forward, he suddenly stopped as he remembered he was trying to imitate Prowl. _Now, how did he do that ninja thing again?_ Tapping one finger against his chin in deep thought, he abruptly brightened. _Of course! Prowl moves differently from other mechs, doesn't he?_ Hunching his shoulders experimentally, he stalked forward with massive clunking stomps like a giant tranquilized buffalo. Something still didn't seem right, though. Another rare moment of deep reflection yielded further results! _Oh, yeah_, Bumblebee realized with a triumphant grin as he resumed his journey. _He also climbs on top of buildings and clings to trees and telephone poles! I can do that! Hah, this ninja stuff is easy. Eat your spark out, Prowl!_

He was so busy congratulating himself on a successful job at being invisible, that he didn't notice the campus cop staring at him in wide eyed horror. Officer Samuels was a nice guy. He loved kids, had a great wife, and was proud to be a cop. What he didn't enjoy in the least was his unofficial job at policing giant lunatic robots from outer space! As he watched the huge, lumbering alien appear to go out of it's mind and stalk through the high-school like Godzilla, he raised his car's cordless comm-unit to his lips. It was new, high-tech, and almost as useful as a walky-talky. "Samuels, calling the base," he whispered fiercely. "Come in, base!"

"This is the base, Officer Samuels," a scratchy effeminate voice replied from the other end. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Another one of those big giant aliens is invading the campus, that's the problem," Officer Samuels hissed. "I need backup, now!" The Autobot was peering into various classroom windows as if searching for something. Abruptly, it straightened and hurriedly tip-toed around the corner of one building with massive concrete gouging ker-chunk noises just as the door opened. Holding his breath, the cop watched as a small Freshman girl emerged with a bathroom hall pass, walked straight past the 'hiding' giant robot, and duck into the girl's room.

"Does the robot have blue or red eyes? Over," came the reply. The tone of voice the receptionist was using had the same dull boredom one tended to have for these sorts of calls. In other words, they got them all the time, and there wasn't a whole lot they could do about it!

"Blue," Samuels clarified, his eyes widening in growing alarm. For some unknown reason, the giant yellow robot decided to climb over the English wing! Three tons of alien scaled the four story tall building with the clumsy flopping movements of a fish attempting to get back into the water. Giant metal feet barely missed kicking in a classroom window on the second floor. He held his breath, expecting the sound of crunching glass and horrified screams... yet, none came. Amazingly enough, the robot made it without crushing the building to dust. Reaching the roof, it flailed briefly before pulling itself up, over, and out of sight. Jogging just far enough up the sidewalk to see what the robot was doing now, the officer stopped up short and stared. It was climbing down the other side... Why?!

"Then just order him off of school property, over," the receptionist drawled in disinterested tones.

"I did," Samuels hissed. "The alien wouldn't listen! That's why I need backup for this! You understand?! Not more big giant robots! I'm talking real uniformed cops!" He cringed as the two story tall sentient machine almost lost it's grip on the building ledge. Scrabbling precariously, it desperately dug in it's claws and the cop winced as several pieces of scaffolding came tumbling down into the bushes below.

"Most of the police vehicles are in the shop, and all the C.O.P. Drones are trashed from the last incident, over," the receptionist reminded him in sarcastic tones.

"Well, what can we do?! Over," Samuels wondered, growing pale as he watched the giant robot almost slip off again. It dangled precariously by one giant hand. A small group of girls laughed and chatted with one another, completely oblivious to three tons of alien robot directly above them. He opened and closed his mouth in dawning alarm as the robot lost his grip even more. "Uh, l-ladies, could you... uh?!" One of them looked at him in annoyed confusion, before shrugging and opting to ignore him in favor of the latest gossip. The others didn't even bother to give him that much of their time. Hooking his comm-unit on his belt, he hurried to escort them away. Then he watched in confusion as they wandered off by their own volition chatting about a visit to the local mall. Slumping in relief, the cop watched them leave, only to swear as several chunks of debris fell down around his head. Racing out of range, he squinted up the wall... to discover that the robot had almost clawed it's way on top of the roof.

"Patching you through to the Autobot Base," the receptionist replied, already pushing the buttons.

"No, wait," Samuel's protested. The click of a phone line transferring was his answer. Mentally, he strengthened himself for the task of speaking with one of the aliens. He had never actually spoken with any of the Autobots officially before. This yellow one didn't count due to the fact that it had never actually replied to him. Usually, it had followed his orders with a sullen expression on it's metal face. He'd heard their leader was very... majestic sounding. It was almost like speaking with the president, or something. Their medic had a voice like rusty nails on a chalkboard, and nobody wanted to encounter that skinny motorcycle! A clicking noise finally signaled that the phone line was patching through, and he could have wept for joy at the chance to finally get some real help! Only to receive a busy signal. In fretful disbelief, he stared at his comm-unit as if it had just betrayed him. And then the robot lost his grip and fell off the building ledge like a three ton boulder.

_Meanwhile..._

The entire classroom jumped under the effect of what felt like a sudden massive earthquake. Teenagers all around the room jumped to their feet in startled surprise... except Cassidy who was gazing sadly at the half cup of coffee that had chosen to dance off the edge of her desk. Chester merely looked annoyed. Noise rose to a near crescendo until they noticed Mr. Li, the Algebra teacher. He wasn't talking. In fact, he hadn't bothered to even get up from his chair. What he had done instead, was to raise a hand casually toward the chalkboard with every fingernail tensed and ready to scrape. One by one, cringing, the students fell silent and sank back into their chairs. No one wanted to hear a noise like that again! As soon as he was certain they were back under control, their teacher rose from his seat and calmly walked over to the nearest window. Peering through it for a long moment, he then lowered the blinds, and went back to his desk. Thirty sets of eyes stared at him in open curiosity, which he chose to ignore. At last, one girl, a tall brunet with thick glasses, raised her hand.

"Yes, Xara," the teacher inquired, as absolutely inscrutable as always.

"What did you see out there?" The Sophomore blushed under his disapproving stare, belatedly remembering that he was a stickler for old fashioned politeness. Fumbling with her words, she tacked on a belated, "I-I mean Mr. Li, sir." An excited mumble of words rose up behind her question until the teacher, yet again, lifted his hand toward the chalkboard. Instant silence descended.

"A school," he replied, deliberately feigning ignorance about what she meant. Disappointment flitted across the student's faces which he ignored. If they learned that one of the robotic aliens was roaming the campus and causing a general mess in his wake, there was no way he would be able to maintain order or prevent them from running out to get a better view. Such actions might even get some of them killed, a consequence he was loath to allow to happen on his watch. He went back to grading papers. When more rumbling thuds shook the room and he still did nothing, their expressions shifted to outright disbelief.

Hadn't a big robot battle taken place right on the quad yesterday? What were they going to do if another one happened today? Of course, everyone knew what the school instructed them to do. On this side of the campus, there were no handy basements to hole up in. According to the campus rules, if bombs were going off, everyone was instructed to exit the classroom in an orderly fashion and line up in plain sight on the football field. Yes, that was going to stop everyone from being killed!

Cassidy rolled her eyes in derision of the school's 'Safety Instructions,' before clutching her desk like a lifeline. The conclusion everyone had come to was, if the robots decided to have a fight while you were on this side of campus, you were dead. Therefore, instead of clinging to a survival manual invented by some government flunky, she came up with her own. 'It's okay,' the brunet consoled herself. Now the floor was jumping under her feet. 'I'm in one of the "Temporary Buildings." Those cute little hollow-core sheds that a school system likes to put up when they don't want to spend the money to build real classrooms. This thing got planted here over seventy years ago and has survived floods, fires, and record blizzards. A little thing like a robot temper-tantrum is nothing by comparison...' More thuds of a gigantic nature shook the room and made her cringe. 'At least, I hope it holds up... What on Earth is happening out there?!'

On the other side of campus, there was a new crater in the ground. Bumblebee slowly and painfully sat up and stared up at the distant building ledge he'd been hanging onto a few cycles ago. Okay, maybe he needed to improve on the sneaking on rooftops thing. Climbing painfully to his pedes, he began the long and arduous climb out of his own self-made crater. It was difficult. Halfway up, his talons digging uselessly into the muddy wall and his robotic feet flailing for purchase, he fell down with a long femme-like howl of terror. The tremor inducing thud of his backside hitting the muddy bottom shook the landscape. "Owww," he moaned, then opened pained baby blue optics. "Stupid hole..."

Glaring unhappily down at his hopelessly filthy paint job, he vented a sigh. It should have been easy to scale his way to the top. Unfortunately, he just couldn't get enough traction. A determined look crossed his face-plates as he slowly rose to his pedes. Then he transformed. In seconds, he was a savage, powerful, and manly... compact car. But hey, as far as Bee was concerned, he was the Cybertronian version of a pit-bull! His engine roaring as loudly as it could and coughing out reams of mud, he raced up the side of the slope. "Come on," he grated to himself, spitting out mud and decayed organic matter. "I can do it..." Slowly but surely, he scaled the unstable walls of the crater, cheering as he went. And then he began losing traction. Howling in disappointment, he yet again succumbed to gravity. "Noooo!"

As the edge of the crater yet again slipped out of reach, a new determination filled Bumblebee's spark. His engine snarling, he put an extra dose of horse-power into his already taxed engine and leaped, transforming as he went. He almost didn't make it. Clawing and desperately reaching for anything he could grasp, he at last heaved himself up and over the edge onto the grassy surface. Lying there, his chassis rising and falling from the exertion, he gazed at a typical rainy Detroit sky. "Freedom," Bee reverently gasped, cleaning fluid drifting out of his closed optics. "Sweet freedom! How I've missed you and... Oh, slag." There, standing right next to his helm was the campus cop... aiming a gun at him.

"Freeze," Officer Samuels declared in as authoritative a tone of voice as he could muster. Inside, he was a nervous wreck. He'd never attempted to do anything even remotely like this before and felt entirely out of his depth. By the look on the robot's metal features, this had never happened to him, either. The robot slowly sat up. In what was either the bravest or the stupidest move in his career in law enforcement, he ordered, "Put your hands over your head!"

"Oh, frag," Bee moaned, his shoulder-plates sagging. The scout slowly lifted up his mud encrusted servos and sighed. "So much for my career as a ninja-Bot."

"N-now, throw down your weapons," the officer stuttered. Honestly, he'd never arrested a perpetrator any larger than six and a half feet tall. Confronting an alien that was a little over fifteen feet tall was a bit more than he could handle. Should he aim at the robot's head? Samuels squinted upward into a set of watery baby blue optics. Err...no. What about the chest? Lowering his gun slightly, he considered the robot's headlight decorated chassis. No, that didn't seem right either. The alien's groin was what was on a level with him, but there was no way he was aiming there. How do you draw down on a creature that was over three times your height?! He needed a vacation... a looong vacation. Swallowing hard when all the muck covered alien did was blink at him in confusion, he repeated, "W-well?! You heard me!"

"Er, that might be a problem," Bee replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with one upraised servo. At the renewed hardened look on the organic's ashen features, he obligingly raised his servos again. "Look, I know they always do this on those C.O.P. Shows on television, but my weapons are kind of attached to me." He demonstrated by switching his servos for his electric stinger arrays. Gazing down at the weaponry, he frowned. "I mean, I guess they can be removed, but we'd need a medic and a blowtorch..."

"Th-then lay down on the ground," Officer Samuels shouted. He was almost brought to tears when the alien didn't obey. Instead, an expression of childish disgust flashed across the yellow robot's metallic features.

"Lay down on that?!" Bumblebee pointed incredulously down at a nearby grassy patch of lawn with something akin to horror. "But it's got all these squirmy things in it," he squeaked girlishly. "And multi-legged things, and organic lubricant from canines, a-and... Ewww! No way!" Crossing his arms, he stuck his nonexistent nose in the air. As the officer raised his gun again, the scout raised his servos in a placating manner. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Huh, I never thought I'd get held at gunpoint by an Organic before." He would have said more, but something interrupted him: the school bell.

Both of them froze in startled surprise as they were abruptly swarmed by teenagers. Everywhere, adolescents poured out of the classrooms in a never ending wave. Most didn't even look at what they were running past. Others noticed the robot, then chose to ignore him. You couldn't walk down the street without encountering one in the perpetually cloudy city of Detroit. They were so commonplace, in fact, that they'd started to become boring. Bumblebee and Samuels stared at one another in speechless silence. Then the scout abruptly realized what this meant. "Hah," he declared. "I'm allowed to be on campus when school is over, so I'm no longer illegal! Oh, yeah! I beat the system!" Adopting a macho pose, he almost knocked over a group of cheerleader wannabe's that were walking by.

Officer Samuels, meanwhile, had his hands full. Traffic control outside of the school was nothing compared to ordering around thousands of contrary teenagers. Nevertheless, he attempted to maintain order. Holstering his gun, he shouted into the general din, "Attention students of Detroit High-School! Do not approach the giant robot!" This, of course, drew the few students that remained in the area like moths to a flame. Soon there was a huge mob of curious adolescents staring up at an alien that would have otherwise been ignored.

Bee was taking full advantage of the attention. "Hey," he whispered loudly, warily looking at the lone police officer for fear of being overheard. "Have you guys seen Cassie around here?"

"You mean me," a statuesque Sophomore on the basketball team inquired.

"Or me," wondered a small girl in a wheelchair wearing a brightly colored headband.

"Then, what about me," volunteered a senior with the latest style in futuristic techno-wear.

"No, no, I'm talking about Cassie," Bumblebee declared chidingly, as if they were all in preschool. "You know, small, organic, female... " He rubbed the back of his helm doubtfully as he added, "At least, I think she is." Mystified expressions were adopted by every teenager around him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh please, how many of you could possibly be named Cassidy?" A showing of hands appeared that was easily more than half the crowd, consisting of boys and girls, sports stars, nerds, goths, techno-jocks, cheerleaders, and every other walk of high-school life. Blue optics widened in consternation before narrowing. Putting his servos on his hips, he scolded, "Heeey, you guys are trying to pull a trick on me, aren't you? Well, you won't succeed at it, even if you do all look alike! There's no way that many people are named Cassidy!" At the sight of narrowed optics, his audience knew better than to stick around. It was awfully difficult to tell the violent ones apart from the clumsy ones and nobody was stupid enough to take that kind of risk!

Samuels, meanwhile, was at his wits end. He was dialing the phone number for the Autobot base for the third time in a row, only to get a busy signal. "Come on, come on," he whispered frantically hitting redial. Amazingly enough, he finally got through. "Yes! Listen, my name is Officer James Samuels of the Detroit Police Department! I am currently at the local high-school and we are dealing with a situation..."

"Listen here Officer James Samuels," a crotchety, static laced voice declared. "I'm currently elbow deep in another mech's processor codes, our leader is conducting a conference call, and our tactician is laid up in surgery! Now, why don't you use that simple organic brain of yours and just ask our scout for help, instead. He's practically right under your fleshy nose!"

"Yeah, b-but, you don't understand," Samuels began, only to be cut off.

"He should be easy to recognize," the unknown robot replied. "You know, Cybertronian? With a yellow paint job?! And he goes by the designation Bumblebee?! I'm sure he can handle whatever 'crisis' you want us to drop everything to deal with. Good-bye!"

Before he could say anything, the connection cut off with a snap that made Officer Samuels wince. Well, at least he knew what the alien's name was now! Maybe he could coax the robot off campus by offering it treats? What did they eat, anyway? He'd seen reports of some of them stealing oil canisters, but the most he had was a small one for vehicle maintenance. Determined to at least try, he searched around the area only to realize the robot had left. But that was impossible! Over the course of the past forty-five minutes he'd been 'sneaking' through the campus like a crashing freight train! A flake of paint drifted down off a nearby building, swiftly followed by several more. Slowly, dreading what he'd see, he looked up. There, scrabbling and squirming up the side of the English building, was the Autobot. Samuels sank to the ground with a whimper of despair. That's it, he was quitting the force.

Meanwhile, Bumblebee was just scrambling his way up to the roof. He had decided to take a page from Prowl's book and ran for the hills, or... (he checked a nearby sign as he was hoisting himself up) the English building! Yeah, that worked, too. The Steel joists and beams under his aft groaned and a few shingles rained down, but amazingly enough, despite his three ton weight, it didn't collapse! Just in case, he placed his servos and pedes far apart in order to spread out the stress.

Deciding to wait until most of the organics had left for the day, he instead took another rare moment to think. Contrary to popular belief, he was an observant mech. He noticed things other Cybertronians took for granted all the time! Unfortunately, the things that everyone wanted him to pay attention to were boring! Things like terrain mapping, Decepticon patrol movements, and memorizing ship trajectory paths made him loose interest. Who cared about that when there were vid-shows, video-games, and rock music to pay attention to instead? This had led to a number of problems in basic training. Yes, he was focused. His profile was testament enough to that. The thing that frustrated his instructors to no end, though, was his lack of discipline. There were any number of times he'd been put on punishment detail for failing to listen to some minor little detail. It was also one of the reasons why he'd been assigned to a tiny little space bridge repair team in the middle of nowhere, to be kept out of the way.

Frowning, the scout shifted to other memories... like ninjas! He brightened. Bee would never admit it, but deep down inside, he thought Prowl's fighting moves were pretty cool! And after a five day marathon of non-stop kung-fu vid-shows, he was ready to learn! That was when Ratchet had knocked his recharge deprived frame unconscious. When he woke up, though, he was still interested! Begrudgingly, Prowl had agreed to begin teaching him the ancient art of Circuit-su. Bumblebee hadn't even lasted one day. They had started out at the beginning level with a meditation exercise designed to make him focus. Then, while he was idly watching a bird in a nearby tree, and tapping out the rhythm to his favorite drum solo, the lesson ended via a swift slap to the back of his helm! Yeesh! What was his problem, anyway? He was just as bad as the instructors he'd had back in basic training! After that, the tactician had decided to change tactics. They would focus on balance exercises first, instead.

Disaster struck when Bee tripped over his own pedes and crashed through a concrete wall. A lesson in evading an enemy's choke hold wound up with the scout falling on top of Prowl, and every ancient Praxian word for the fighting arts was horribly mispronounced no matter how many times the tactician had corrected him. Then it was back to meditating, again! Talk about boring! He'd been sitting there, minding his own business while wondering what was on television, when the circuit-su master had gone insane for no reason! Okay, so maybe he'd been fidgeting, again. That was still not a legitimate reason to attempt to rip his helm off his shoulders! Racing out the door, the scout vowed not to come back until Prowl had apologized. Thus, his only foray into learning martial arts ended.

Letting out a derisive snort, he rolled his optics as he concluded, _But who needs all that meditation stuff, anyway. I've seen enough kung-fu vids to know how it's done! Every-mech knows a major part of learning anything new is through observation. This whole ninja thing is easy!_ Putting actions to words, he scrabbled his way to the roof's edge and looked down. Most of the Human younglings had left by now. Initiating a campus-wide search for Cassidy's DNA pattern, he went back to reflecting on his own hard won knowledge. All those painstakingly observed high flying kicks, karate chops, and cat-like movements...which were a lot more fun than meditating! And everyone knew he was way cooler than Prowl, so he'd make a downright awesome ninja. He began to daydream about what he'd be like. One thing was for sure, he'd never be boring! Grinning to himself, he began making his own narration. "Once, long ago, there was a warrior," he began, coaching his vocals to sound like an ancient wise mech of Praxus. "Few could match his skills in battle, and all were in awe of his ability to be silent, yet deadly!"

Pausing for dramatic effect, he noticed a message on his HUD and opened it. "Huh, Cassie's not out of class yet," he mumbled, thoughtfully. Bee puzzled over this odd turn of events even as he turned to helm to look in the direction his site map indicated she was at. Shrugging it off, he went back to spider crawling. She'd probably been having so much fun that she hadn't even notice the dismissal bell! Yeah, that was probably it. He went back to focusing on himself. This was one of the longer buildings, full of multiple classrooms, intersecting hallways, and planters full of ivy on either side. It was the perfect place to perfect his cool ninja skills! "Not that I need much more work," he scoffed, developing an arrogant expression. "I mean, I'm next to perfect at this whole stealth thing, and as Prowl kept insisting all through that botched training session, I am one with my environment!"

That was when a loud crunch filled the air. Optics flaring bright in sudden worry, he flexed one oddly off kilter pede experimentally and winced. He turned his head and just barely caught sight of the hole in the roof that his robotic foot had just disappeared into. "Oops," he mumbled, his face-plates super-heating in embarrassment. A quick scan revealed that the campus was even more deserted than before! Which, in Bumblebee's opinion, was a very good thing. Hoping to make a swift getaway before any blame could be placed on him, he carefully began to lift his leg... only to wince in sudden agony! Something was clogging up the gears in his pede!

Panicking, he lifted his leg a little more forcefully and let out a howl of pain. When the deafening clamor of damage alerts on his HUD had died down to a whisper, he performed another scan, this one topographical. And there was the culprit! Down below, within a small utility closet was his trapped pede, and tangled up around, inside, and above it were the mangled remains of a wet mop! He lifted his leg and watched the handle wedge solidly against the walls of the closet. This, in turn, made the strings of the mop tighten around sensitive internal wiring, and... "Youch," he yowled loudly in Cybertronian. "Oh, come on! Why won't Cassie get out here and help me?!" Little did he know, Cassidy couldn't leave, considering she was in detention. She was stuck in a tiny little portable math building across the street, watching a fairly entertaining argument take place.

"Ridiculous," Chester declared heatedly, pointing with the chalk in his pixilated hand at an algebraic equation that Mr. Li had just painstakingly written out on the chalkboard. Swiftly erasing half the mathematics, he wrote out strange symbols that looked like the doodles a bored five year old would make, and ended it with a the correct answer... and a whole lot of extra numbers after a decimal point. "With those kinds of algorithms that you were using," he explained. "You couldn't hit the broad side of a passing ship! What is needed is the quantum space time sequence to even come close to a real answer!"

Thoroughly disgusted with the entire affair, Mr. Li declared, "That is complete nonsense! If you must insist on wasting time with imaginary Algebra, you can do it elsewhere. It's obvious you aren't here to learn." He had explained, he had cajoled, he had painstakingly written problem after problem. Each time, his teachings were not only ignored, they were blatantly defied! He'd write up an example with a set of similar equations to practice with... only to come back to this! Complete gobbledygook was written all over the assignment sheet! The strange thing was, the answers were correct. Determined, he'd send Chester back to his desk to solve another group of equations. Here was the problem, clearly written out... In a rare showing of the growing anger that was simmering below the surface, the teacher's hands tightened into fists. Turning his head to regard the newest page of written equations from his wayward student, he sighed. This one, like all the others, was scrawled with even more nonsense! Briefly, it occurred to him that it was awfully interesting that the boy continued to use the exact same symbols every time. Obviously, he had an excellent memory.

Swindle glared back. He WAS writing real mathematics, frag it! This was such a backwards culture. At this rate, it would take them eons to develop warp drive technology! Opening his avatar's mouth to argue further, he abruptly froze. An odd sensation began to niggle at the back of his processor. The zoot-suiter grew unnaturally still. No, the sensation wasn't originating from his processor... it was coming from his spark! Twisting around, he stared sightlessly at the classroom ceiling as if listening to some distant sound. Slowly, as if in a trance, he walked toward the nearby door and peered outside.

"Mr. Ivory?" Tilting his head, Mr. Li watched his wayward pupil in growing curiosity. He had to admit that the boy did have a great deal of intelligence. It was just too bad he insisted on using it to play elaborate practical jokes. Cassidy, he noted, was also gazing after Chester with a slightly worried expression. Regaining his inner calm, he folded his hands behind his back and raised one eyebrow. Clearing his throat pointedly, he inquired, "Is everything alright?"

"Huh?!" Twisting around suddenly enough to give himself whip-lash, Swindle glared distractedly at the two organics in his company. He had to backtrack in his memory files to find whatever it was that had been said, which took precious milliseconds of his time! When he did, he barely held back a snort of derision. Swiping one holographic hand agitatedly, he replied, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" Tilting his head back, he stared up at the cloudy sky with a pensive frown on his dusky features. His words trailed off wistfully as he added, "Something's just come up..."

_Not now_, Swindle internally whined, feeling as if he was on the verge of a perfectly justifiable temper-tantrum. _I have a business to run, here! If that pain in the aft shows up, I can kiss all my current sales ventures goodbye! _Already, his processor was working into overdrive trying to come up with schemes that would hide his activities until the paychecks arrived. Then he abruptly settled on a plan. It was risky and required a lot of preparation in a short amount of time, but he'd do it!

Spinning around, he did his level best to reassure the two fleshlings with a wide sales perfect smile. "Look," he began pleasantly enough. "This has been fun!" He squinted at the sky, doing an off the cuff calculation on where his target would be making landfall. Taking another broad step backwards, he practically babbled, "But I've gotta go! So, see you!" With that, he took off, racing off down the sidewalk without a backwards glance. His processor was already calculating an unexpected dilemma that he DID NOT WANT! Not here, not now, not ever! Swearing to himself in several off-world languages, he barely kept his holoform from outracing the fastest land mammals this planet could boast.

_Let's see_, he mused as he hopped into his alt-mode, darkened the windows for privacy, and shut down his avatar program. _If he comes in at the current trajectory with the Eath's rotation, he should be making landfall at approximately ten-O'-three tonight, right around... There!_ Turning his engine over, he practically leaped out of the the empty parking lot and raced down the road, still intent on his figuring any alternate plans. _What a lousy time to have company!_

"Weird," Cassidy intoned as they watched the zoot-suiter race out of sight. Frankly, she had a hard time believing a guy wearing patent leather loafers was capable of running that fast. She glanced at the teacher in mystification. "What do you think that was all about?"

Something else was much more important to Mr. Li other than the zoot-suiter's weird behavior. That was her lack of progress in her homework! Without the distraction of a very obstinate prankster he could focus all of his attention on her! Oh, goody! By the time the last half hour had finished marching by, the brunet had a sheaf of practice homework to do and a raging headache to show for it. She was never going to understand this stupid assignment! Maybe she should take a page out of Chester's book and make up her own version of Algebra? It seemed to work for him. When she had that thought, she let out a groan. Now she knew she was tired. Chester was starting to make sense!

Trudging out the door, and toward the signal that would take her to the other side of campus, she kept a wary eye on her surroundings. She hadn't forgotten all of the less than friendly acquaintances she knew in this school. Jumping her would be a lot easier without any witnesses. It wasn't until she'd crossed the street to the other side of the campus that she heard it.

"Pssst," a voice hissed from up above. It almost sounded almost like air seeping out of a tire... Yet, there was an undertone of the sort of static interference one would hear on a bad radio frequency.

Swinging her head around, it took Cass a few minutes to locate the source of the noise. When she did, her mouth fell open. There was a GIANT ROBOT on the roof! Truly staggered by the sight, the brunet could only stare up at Bumblebee in shock.

"Finally," Bee peevishly declared with narrowed optics. "I was beginning to think you'd stay in there forever!" He was about to add more, but then his metallic features abruptly twisted in alarm and he ducked out of sight beyond the roof-line.

At that moment, a gaggle of cheerleaders wandered aimlessly by, talking about hair, makeup, boys, and the practice session they'd just finished. Miraculously, one of them noticed someone other than herself. She stared at the way Cassidy was worriedly looking up at the English building. Opening her mouth question her, she then paused and reconsidered that line of reasoning. Being seen talking to that Nulte girl could ruin her social career for the rest of high-school! A nervous glance proved that the rest of the team were now watching her expectantly, waiting to see what she'd do. So, instead of asking the obvious question, the cheerleader went with a safe alternative. Giving the brunet's clothes a once over glance from head to toe, and wrinkling her nose over the old fashioned jeans, sneakers, and tee-shirt she wore, she then snorted prettily and flounced back to the others. They all obliged with a cruel laugh, then walked away.

All of this was noted by Cassidy, before being ignored as irrelevant. She was far more interested in the impossible spectacle of a three ton alien sitting on top of the English building. Why hadn't the roof collapsed? What had possessed him to get up there in the first place? Hadn't anyone noticed him yet? This, and many other questions passed through her mind as she gazed upward and waited.

Are they gone, yet," Bumblebee nervously wondered. Shingles rained down as the robot shifted positions. A plaintive electronic warble sounded, before his giant mechanical face crept back into view. Pale blue optics glanced around before he vented a spark-felt sigh of relief. "Oh, good! Those weird female organics give me the creeps! Why do they all have the same hair, clothes, and face-paint? They even all move at the same time like some kind of freaky organic drone-robots!" Shuddering at the thought, he then cringed when the building shook under his weight. That reminded him of another, much more dangerous problem. Bee focused on his temporary Human charge with something akin to desperation. "Look, Cassie," he began, cringing as the building rumbled, yet again. "Gaah! Listen, my pede's stuck! All I need for you to do, is go into this building, and..." He blinked in consternation. "Er... why are you smiling at me like that?"

Was she smiling? Cassidy blinked in surprise at the news, then mentally shrugged. Her face did kind of hurt, like she was using muscles that she didn't exercise very often. Of course, she did smile fairly often. Those were stage smiles made for a commercial or theater performance. A genuine grin was rare, mostly because it had a natural quirk to one side that instantly made people suspicious of her motives. She'd been blamed for a number of things that she hadn't had anything to do with because of that impish little grin. It was better to not smile at all than to get blamed for everyone's problems. Giving the giant robot a fond, almost pitying expression, she then turned and walked away. Ignoring Bumblebee's frustrated howls, she practically skipped as she left campus. Freedom, honest to goodness, no aliens or government agents freedom! She was going to savor this.

"Cassie, don't you dare ditch me a third time today," Bumblebee scolded softly. "I mean it! Don't make me come down there!" The irony of this statement hit him a minute later, causing his face-plates to heat up. "Or, not come down there... Oh, please, please, please get me out of this mess. I'll give you Burger-Bot sandwiches for a month, ice-cream, anything!" Unfortunately, she kept walking. "Oooh, bad Human!" Slamming a fist into the roof he was on, he then cringed at the unstable shudder that shook the building.

Cringing, he waited for the shaking to stop before cautiously looking around to see if anyone else had noticed him. Asking some strange organic for help was completely out of the question! If the city of Detroit discovered he'd damaged even more public property and complained about it, his teammates were going to confine him to the base! They'd threatened it enough times that he believed every word of it. But he had to get down. Another experimental tug on his trapped pede caused another agonizing jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, making him yelp. What to do, what to do?! Think! It was as he sat there, immobilized, abandoned, and helpless, that the only solution became obvious to his processor. Venting a sigh, he called the base and waited. Just as the signal was answered, though, the roof shuddered again even more violently. So, instead of a polite, dignified request for assistance, he screeched over the entire Autobot group link comm-lines, _'Gaaaah, RATCHET!'_

Bumblebee's screech rioted over their sensors on all frequencies just as the medi-Bot was fine-tuning the last of the binary code's in Prowl's logic center. It was only the thousands of years experience that kept Ratchet's servos steady enough not to offline his patient. The tactician still flinched due to the deafening tone of the scout's vocals. Optimus couldn't say anything, considering the diplomatic mission he was performing via a video conference call, but everyone could tell by his engine growls that he really wanted to! Even Bulkhead was incensed, judging by the rumble of anger that filled the air-waves. Scowling, Ratchet opened his own link and snarled, _'Youngling, how many times have I told you not to scream across the com-line?'_

_'B-but, Doc-Bot,'_ the scout stuttered, pathetically.

_'But nothing,'_ Ratchet growled back. _'If it isn't some foolish, low-RAMMed, know it all policeman interrupting my work, it's something else! Now, what could possibly be so fragging important that you have to deafen every Autobot within a three day drive?'_ Silence descended over the comm-channel, lasting long enough to make the medic suspect that Bee had forgotten to sign off, again. Mentally cursing him to the Pit and back, the older mech was about to sign off for him. Then he paused. To his surprise, the scout was still present and accounted for, because he finally chose to answer.

In complaining tones, Bumblebee whined, _'Cassie's mean.'_

Now, it was Ratchet's turn to pause. Looking down at the med-table, he exchanged glances with a politely listening Prowl. He narrowed his optics and answered, _'I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific than that, youngling. How is Cassidy mean?'_

_'Well,'_ the scout hesitated, sounding embarrassed. _'I'd rather not say... At least, not with Prowl listening in.'_

Optic ridges rose all around the base when they heard this admission and the medic and the tactician glanced at one another again, instantly intrigued. _'Youngling,'_ Ratchet began in ominous tones, an engine rev, accentuating his words. It was a voice Bumblebee knew well, the one he tended to adopt right before he started throwing wrenches. _'If you don't tell me right now...'_

_'Eeep,'_ came a rather femme-like squeal over the comm-lines. This was followed by a quick spattering of information in text format. Then silence, yet again, descended.

Surprise, followed by open amusement flashed across Ratchet's face-plates. A glance down at the med-table proved that Prowl was fighting to keep a smirk from stretching his own features. Optimus wasn't even trying to hide his reaction, judging by the gusty laughter echoing from down the hall. Leaning against a nearby empty berth, the medic assumed a casual air. _'Well, Bumblebee,'_ he drawled in smug, contemplative tones. _ 'That might pose a problem. You are out in a very public location... It would be nearly impossible to properly sneak out there to rescue you without alerting the locals. Yep, I hate to say it, but we can't do anything about your situation until tonight.'_

_'TONIGHT?!'_ Everyone collectively winced at Bumblebee's loud squawk of dismay. _'I can't stay up here on this roof all day long!'_

_ 'Bumblebee,' _Prowl interrupted, speaking for the first time on this fairly ludicrous problem. '_Perhaps you can consider this a learning opportunity? Remaining still for extended periods of time is a skill that all practitioners of Circuit-su must acquire...'_

'_That's a load of slag, Prowl_,' Bee flatly intoned. Then his vocals became more pleading._ 'Why can't you just use one of your holograms to...'_

_'Prowl is laid up in the medbay,'_ Ratchet reminded him in disapproving tones. _'I'm serving my function as the Autobot's only medic, Optimus is conducting an important conference call, and Bulkhead is a good five hour drive away. Beyond that, you've managed to damage the organic's learning center! If the public finds out about this, we might get deported! You have to stay up there and out of sight.'_ He savored the whimpers of dismay that came over the comm-channel for a moment, before he at last relented. _'However, I will do one favor for you. I'll take a brief break to retrieve Cassidy before her more adventurous side gets her hurt by the 'Cons.'_ Ignoring the ensuing spluttering that came from Bumblebee's side of the link, he signed off. Then he turned toward Prowl. "Don't go anywhere," he said, out loud. "I've got an organic to drag kicking and screaming back to the base."

"Understood," Prowl replied with a congenial nod. He waited politely for the medic to leave before sitting up and folding his long narrow legs. Now seemed like an excellent time to meditate... and consider a dilemma. It seemed that Bumblebee had actually been serious in his desire to learn the ancient art of Circuit-su! Such fighting skills in their youngest teammate would be beneficial to everyone in the long run, providing discipline for him, an added advantage on the battle field, and hopefully, a little relief from his constant pranks. The only problem that remained was in the method of teaching him. So far, every attempt he had made to instill this knowledge into the scout had ended in frayed wires and homicidal rages. Could he withstand the sheer annoyance of having the scout for a student? Or would he give in to the urge to dismantle his obnoxious metal hide? All of these were very serious questions for the team's future. Closing his optics, he sank into a zen-like state of processor and ignored the world.


	15. Chapter 15

Confidence Game

Chapter 15: Family Talks

by: Mooncrossed

_ Hey, everybody! I hope everyone is having a wonderful summer. I'd like to thank XxshadowfangxX for the review (Who says they haven't already found out? Soundwave is annoyingly sneaky), to RedtailHawk19 (Yup, it'll be a learning experience for both of them. Glad you liked the chapter), to SunnySides (Careful, Bee just might surprise you... Or he'll trip over a fire hydrant and destroy half of Detroit. Stay tuned!), to thiefkingbakura1 (Swindle is so far beyond basic math that he's kind of transcended the most advanced Human level. It's kind of like a rocket scientist trying to teach a caveman how to calculate the trajectory of a falling object. Grin), to Noella (Yeah, Ratchet's none too pleased with her. Glad you like it), and to Penny Talisman (Thanks). I don't own Transformers. _

_On a busy city street..._

It had taken a lot of effort, but she had done it! Cassidy paused a moment to catch her breath. Detroit High School, and her Autobot entourage, were nothing but a distant memory. But just in case... Slipping down a side alley, she hustled down the steps into the basement entrance of the public library, quietly traversed the rows of musty books and fish-eyed librarians, and exited out the main doors. Then she jay-walked across the street until she got to the apartment building across the way. A quick climb up the fire escape, through the rooftop exit, down the elevator into the basement laundry room, out a narrow window, and she was finally in the residential district! For the sake of paranoia, she did a little doubling back, and voila! Before her stood a familiar gray apartment building.

There was nary a trace of engine growls, saxophone voices, or heavy clunking feet. In other words: paradise! She could already feel the tension sapping out of her body. Casually strolling along familiar cracked sidewalks and watching her surroundings out of habit rather than panicked necessity, she made her way around the side of the building. It was a behemoth of construction. Built some time back int the nineteen-twenties, it had withstood the Depression, a decades long stagnant economy, and an alien invasion of the galactic variety. Now, it sat there as solid and imposing as when it was first built.

This was the place that she'd learned how to install sheet-rock, use a paint roller, and... Yes, it was also where she had learned every excuse ever invented about why a tenant couldn't pay their rent on time. Cass wasn't interested in the residents. She was more concerned with the buildings only electrician, plumber, repairman, gardener, and land-lord: her dad. The papers had said he had an apartment for rent at this address. That meant that her father was bound to be somewhere nearby. Pausing a moment, the brunet listened before a smile inched across her features. A familiar voice could be faintly heard, cursing like a sailor. Bingo! Jogging toward the sound, she rounded the corner to find Mr. Toby Nulte hunched down over an electrical box. He was a tall, thin man, with a growing bald spot and a thick pair of glasses. Pasty pale skin gleamed in the meager Detroit afternoon light.

Normally, he preferred to work at night. There were fewer people around to bother him and he tended to be more awake. As a fellow night owl, Cassidy could empathize. The only exception he made was if one of the buildings had an empty. Then he pulled out all the stops and worked himself to exhaustion to get the rental ready again. Silently creeping along the wall, she waited until she was practically on top of him before bothering to speak. "Hey, Pop," she casually greeted.

At the sound of his daughter's voice, Toby Nulte's spine imperceptibly stiffened. Then he was all business. "Cass, could you hand me my needle-nose pliers? Those last tenants messed with the electrical wiring... Lucky the whole place didn't burn down!" The tool in question was handed over and he went back to work. "Lousy, no-good, idiotic... If they wanted a satellite antennae hook-up that badly, all they had to do was ask! Electrical tape?"

Rolling her eyes to hide her amusement, Cass handed him the requested item while simultaneously keeping a respectful distance from any and all wiring. The same rule applied to plumbing as well, thanks to the flooding disaster when she was five years old. Grunting out a thank you, or maybe another muffled curse against deadbeat renters, Toby resumed working. Such was the relationship she had with her father. Business came first. If you showed up during a job, it was assumed you were there to work. She relished the normality of it all! No giant robots, no mess-with-your-brain government agents, and no Chester! Just her and her dad at the work-site!

"Hey, Cass," Toby grunted, jarring her out of her thoughts. "Hand me that thermos over there, and take a swig while you're at it, too. Ugh, this is hard work..." Mentally shrugging, she followed orders. That was another thing about her dad. He always insisted on keeping fluid levels up. If you get low on water, your thinking became fuzzy. Then your work was going to be screwed up so much that you'd have to do it all over again! Throwing back a swallow of freezing cold water, she handed the open thermos to her father only to pause. Serious brown eyes met hers with a hint of warmth in their depths. An almost imperceptible smile of welcome passed over his gruff features. The next instant, the moment was gone. Taking a gulp of water, he passed it back before burrowing back into the mess that the building's electrical system had been turned into.

Cassidy was left feeling a little teary eyed. Like her dad, she wasn't all touchy-feely. Gestures held a lot more meaning in her life than words ever had. Anything said out loud was doled out sparingly after much thought and consideration. Often times, a look or a gruff thank-you conveyed a thousand times more meaning than the grandest of speeches. Her dad was someone she could relax around. Oh, how she'd missed it!

Of course, her mom's side of the family were completely different. Everything about them was in the form of words. They gushed about this, they chattered about that. The word 'Love' was bestowed upon everything from grandchildren to baking dishes! Kisses and hugs were exchanged with husbands, children, cousins, total strangers, and the list went on. Even pets were given the treatment! Cassidy still remembered, with a sort of horrified awe, the moment her aunt had given her grandparent's house-cat a kiss on the nose and then turned around and smooched her husband! Family reunions were an uncomfortable affair at best. After the first fifteen minutes of meaningless 'How are you's,' and ambush hugs, Cassidy was left feeling wrung out and hollow. Escaping into the farthest depths of her grandfather's house, she wouldn't come out into the open until it was time to leave. She didn't mind, though. Her dad and the house-cat usually tended to join her in self imposed exile. In her opinion, they were the only other sane people in the family.

Her brother had a different method for handling these family get-togethers. As soon as Kit stepped over the threshold of her grandparents home, he went through a personality shift. One moment, he was her quiet, thoughtful, and somewhat sadistic older brother. A silent gesture spoke a thousand words and a kind glance was as warm as any hug. The next, he was a constantly smiling, bear-hugging machine! His deep resounding voice declaring just as many meaningless platitudes as their relatives, he'd instantly become part of the family while she was left to drown under a sea of cousins. Even though it proved he was a more versatile actor, it still wasn't fair!

She was jarred from her thoughts when the electric box was slammed closed with a loud clanging noise. "Well, it looks like that's going to have to do it," her dad grumbled, giving the flat metal door a sour look. "If I'd known they were doing that to the wiring, I'd have thrown them out months ago! Dang fools..." Still grumbling about the idiocy of renters, the older man stood up and proceeded to tidy up the remains of his impromptu work station. Snickering slightly over some of his more creative insults, Cass began gathering tools. Fifteen minutes later, they were camped out on the front stoop with an open lunch box between them and a couple of warm soda-pop bottles from the back of her dad's pickup truck. Usually, the drink of choice was water. Soda was only opened for special occasions. The unspoken gesture of welcome made her smile. This was the first time the two of them had been able to hang out together without the company of media hounds, cops, or giant robots... Stiffening at the sight of a familiar vehicle speeding up the street, she scowled. Obviously, she'd spoken too soon. 

Swerving at the last second, the ambulance parked the wrong direction on the curb in front of them. The fact that it's sirens were blaring only added insult to injury. All around, curtains twitched as curious tenants and neighbors looked outside. She could already imagine what the gossips were saying now. Darting a quick glance at her father, it was to see a familiar frown settling over his pale features. When the sound of a giant robot beginning to transform began, like wet plastic rubbing against itself at a thousand decibels, both of them stiffened. It was with matching scowls that they greeted what was sure to be chaos personified... Only, it never happened.

As abruptly as the noise began, it stopped. Aside from a brief shudder, the ambulance remained just as it had started, an ambulance. Cass raised one disbelieving eyebrow and exchanged glances with her dad. A muffled Cybertronian curse came from within the vehicle's cab before a booted foot harshly kicked the door open. The man that climbed out was tall and thin, with a prominent nose and a no nonsense crew-cut hairstyle. Taking a moment to adjust his glasses, he then stalked their way with a scowl on his narrow features. There was something familiar about him. She squinted in an effort to identify what it was. He was roughly thirty, with zero muscle mass and a lab coat that draped across his back like it was on a wire hanger. Wracking her brains for any paramedics she'd encountered over her long and klutzy career with all things electronic, she attempted to identify him. It wasn't until he favored her with a very familiar glower that she realized what was going on. Staring, first at the innocuously parked ambulance, then at the guy standing in front of her, she blurted out, "Ratchet?!"

"You've got some nerve, youngling," the medic grated out, not bothering to congratulate her on her lucky guess. He looked the teenager over from head to toe. A low level medical scan swiftly followed the visual assessment, making her wary expression turn into a pained glower. As the results came in on his HUD, his frown developed an undertone of mild concern, before hardening in righteous anger. "Do you realize how much time I've wasted tracking you down? And now I find out you're injured! Why, I could have had Prowl discharged from my office with a clean bill of health, and now I've got two fragging patients to deal with!"

Toby Nulte deliberately cleared his throat, interrupting what was sure to be one doozy of a rant before it could begin. "Not to be rude or anything," he sarcastically drawled as he eyed the hologram like it was a particularly interesting form of insect life. "But who are you?"

"Oh, how rude of me," Cassidy abruptly exclaimed. Still smarting from the mild electrocution she'd been treated to, she favored the medic with her own form of revenge. An introduction filled to the brim with slang words! Swindle had hated it, and she had discovered that his fellow giant robots seemed to share that trait. Why? That was a mystery to be solved at a later date. Right now, it was time to mess with an alien that didn't know how to leave well enough alone! Sweeping her hands out graciously, she introduced the alien to her father with as much exaggerated gentility as a hostess at a fancy southern ball. "Okay, Pop! Meet Ratchet! He's the local UFO contingent's sawbones. Well, maybe not him exactly... Technically, Ratchet's the gas-hog parked halfway on the sidewalk over there. This is, well... I guess you'd call it an electric marionette? Maybe a poltergeist? He does tend to throw stuff, so, it fits. Anyway, I prefer to call him 'Doc." With a sweeping flourish, as if she was wearing an elaborate ballgown instead of ripped and stained jeans, she sank back down on the concrete steps.

Grumbling something unintelligible, the medic rolled his holographic blue eyes skyward. He'd had to look up most of those words she had used and the extra energy expenditure for the Internet search was making him cranky. Just to be certain that this other organic was actually Cassidy's father, he performed a quick scan. His programming provided the final results. This was indeed her mech-creator, as proven by certain DNA markers... and he supposed he would have to make nice with him now, as well! Grumbling over the arcane formalities of such a backwards species, he thrust out a holographic palm. "Ratchet," he intoned gruffly by way of introduction. "Chief medical officer of the Autobot contingent on Earth."

Refusing to move, Toby stared at that hand like it was a snake about to strike. He had noticed the hitch in his daughter's breathing and had wondered about the cause. Now, he knew. The electrical shock that had skittered through his body had felt like static... until it reached his mouth. That was when his dental fillings had made themselves known, loud and clear! Only through sheer strength of will had he kept from crying out in pain. Hardening his jaw, he reached out and firmly shook the construct's hand. A similar skitter of electricity crackled under his palm, so slight as to be completely missed if he wasn't looking for it. One of the robots, then. With his poker face solidly in place, the older man regarded this unexpected anomaly in his life with calculating dark eyes as he bluntly replied, "Mr. Nulte."

Silence descended over the group for a long, awkward moment. Ratchet raised one holographic eyebrow at the concept of an organic that was a fraction of his age telling him to call him 'Mister.' With mild sarcasm, he replied, "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but I have a patient to get back to at the base. So, if you'll pardon us..."

Trying to keep the eager excitement out of her voice, Cassidy inquired, "Is Prowl going to die?" She really did try to sound concerned. Judging by the gimlet glare she received from Ratchet, though, it was pretty obvious she wasn't successful. Cringing back, she did her level best to appear innocent. It wasn't that she disliked the motorcycle, or at least, not exactly. In her humble opinion, she felt that her lifespan would be significantly extended if the psychotic alien was no longer around.

"No, he's not going to offline," Ratchet sneered in exasperation. The 'friendship' between Prowl and Cassidy defied understanding. It made the medic thankful he didn't have an organic of his own to cart around. About to add a rant about all the time he'd wasted tracking her scrawny aft across town, he jumped when he was interrupted by a very pointed organic coughing noise. Somehow, the older Human had slipped off his sensor net as if he didn't even exist. It was disconcerting in the extreme. Making an adendum on his HUD to run a self-diagnostic on his sensor system later, the holoform reared back at the sight of the soda drink being proffered his way. A corrosive glare was aimed at the Human in front of him. "I don't consume organic fuels."

"And I'm not asking yah to," Toby replied. At the hologram's nonplussed expression, he grinned. "When yah hang around a family as infamous as ours, it's best to keep everyone guessing." He didn't withdraw his hand until the bottle of soda was reluctantly accepted. Then, as casually as you please, the older Human relaxed against the stair railing.

"Yeah, Doc," Cassidy enthused. She gave him an innocent looking smile. "You could be an old college buddy of Pop's."

"Or the convict in the cell next door," Toby suggested with a bitter smile. At Ratchet's askance look, he obligingly gestured for him to have a seat on the steps with them. "It doesn't matter if I've never committed a crime in my life. Rumors persist."

"Obviously," Ratchet drawled. Eying this new organic in his midst like he might be a parasitic scraplet in disguise, the medic instead chose to lean against the stair railing rather than sit down. His frown deepened as he caught a glimpse of the Human's matching smirks at his actions. Contemptuously, he examined the bottle in his holographic hand. The contents were appallingly unhealthy! Why, the sugar content alone... He looked up just in time to see Cassidy's defiant grin as she took a deliberately long drink. Oh, she knew exactly how much she was aggravating him! And didn't there happen to be a large supply of that particular liquid back at the base? Making a mental note to confiscate the contents of the vending machine, he then contemplated his ever expanding to-do list. "I could be back in my med-bay right now..."

"Relax, Doc," Cassidy declared. "You know, it wouldn't kill yah to enjoy yourself for once." Putting actions to words, and ignoring the concrete steps that dug into her spine, he brunet lounged back as if she was in a deck chair. This was the ultimate defiance against authority and she reveled in it!

Smiling slightly, Toby didn't bother to comment. He was too busy examining this otherworldly intruder to be bothered with anything as mundane as social conventions. Truthfully, the concept of a thinking, breathing, living entity made up entirely of machinery fascinated him. What did he use for a power source? Were his kind created by a more advanced species, or did they make themselves? His sharp brown eyes silently gathered clues. Noticing the holoform's far too bright eyes, as if they were unnaturally lit from within by an electric blue glow, he wondered if they all did that. The memory from their handshake had consisted of skin that was too hard, crackling with a barely recognizable dry static electric charge. All this was memorized for future reference even as he calculated the methods the alien had used to make such a realistic puppet. He'd even lay down good odds that the innocuous looking hologram could bench press a bus with very little effort. Ratchet chose that moment to favor him with a fierce glower and he grinned. If someone chose to barge into their lives without any warning or invitation, they deserved to be as uncomfortable as physically possible. It was only fair.

"Not that I don't appreciate the hospitality," Ratchet sarchastically declared. "But I have a patient waiting for me to get back to him. So, youngling, if you would..."

"Hold it," Toby ordered in no nonsense tones. "She's still got to follow the rules of the worksite, meaning she has a job to do before she can leave." Putting down his bottle, he stood up and wandered over to his truck. He opened up one of the tool chests in the back and got out a pry-bar, a hammer, and a face-mask. Offering the tools to his daughter, he simply stated, "Break's over. Twenty-four-A." Sighing, Cass nodded and set down her drink. She accepted what he offered and wandered into the apartment building.

"You don't seem to realize how important my role at the base is," Ratchet protested, his holographic features beginning to darken. He really couldn't believe how audacious these organics were behaving. It was also becoming more obvious by the second where Cassidy got her personality protocals from. "I can't afford to laze about while..."

"Keep your shirt on, old-timer," Toby drawled without looking at him. He gestured toward the nearest open window that faced the street. "This won't take as long as you think it will." Cassidy had just entered through the door. Looking around the room, she wrinkled her nose. The place had been completely trashed. Stains of an indescribable origin littered the carpets, wallpaper was slashed to ribbons (most likely with a pocket knife), and everything smelled like cigarette smoke. Even the ceiling lights had been angrily destroyed. She could see glass fragments glittering inside damaged sockets up above. It wasn't until she'd stepped further into the room and shut the door that she saw what her father wanted her to deal with. A huge hole had been kicked into the wall right next to main entryway. Shaking her head at how childish some people could be, Cass put her face-mask on and set to work. Idly wandering over to a random wall, she set one end of the pry-bar to the wall and lightly tapped the other end with her mallet.

Nothing happened. Cassidy removed the pry-bar and took a broad step back. Then a small crack appeared in the plaster... and steadily widened, growing into a spiderweb of damage. The fissure grew, stretching all the way around the room and arching across the ceiling. A pause occurred that was filled with ominous silence. With a dust filled crash, every square inch of sheet-rock on the walls fell to the ground.

"Back when she was born, I wanted to name her 'Calamity," Toby commented in a matter of fact tone of voice. Taking another sip from his soda bottle, he paused contemplatively. "Her mother objected." The ceiling chose that moment to fall in, prompting a fresh string of curse words from his daughter. He smirked even as he took another drink from his soda bottle.

"A fitting name," Ratchet reluctantly agreed. By Cybertronian standards, 'Calamity' was a much better name than 'Cassidy Jane.' It was more respectable, and no where near as ridiculous as the nonsense words that Humans seemed to prefer as personal designations. Then his holographic features wrinkled in disbelief as his search engine found an article and drew up a connection. "Calamity Jane?! You wanted to name her after a half-crazed lady gunfighter?"

"So sue me, I happen to like the Old West," Toby protested with a laugh. At the incredulous look he received from the medic he offered a halfhearted shrug. "And considering all the disasters that happened that day, I figured the name fit her just fine."

"Disasters," the medic repeated sceptically. "Pray tell... Did some inconsequential sports team loose a game? Was there a record extra inch of rainfall that year?"

"Hah, no, nothing like that," Toby replied, watching his daughter begin the dusty work of tossing the broken debris into a nearby trash bin. "Just our car breaking down twice on the way to the hospital, three car crashes blocking up the intersections, and a blackout in the maternity ward. Call it the family curse. My point is..." He fixed the hologram with a suddenly unamused, penetrating stare. "I know my daughter. When she's scared, when she's unsure, when she's in pain, I can tell. So, if I see that expression on my daughter's face because of you doing another one of those magnetic sweeps...you won't live past that moment. Capiche?"

Looking into the organic's eyes, Ratchet could very well believe him...and respect him for it. Sentient species the galaxy over were fiercely protective of their offspring and Cybertronians were no different. Though it was true that he had no younglings of his own, he had the crew. They were his to defend from the very jaws of death, if he had to, and woe betide the fragger that was stupid enough to to try! If the way this Human felt about Cassidy was even a fraction of the feelings he held for Optimus and the rest, then how could he refuse to honor such a demand? Warily, he nodded, even as he warned, "I'll stop with the scans to satisfy my curiosity, but I need to run some of them to check for major injuries..."

"Fine," Toby agreed, before giving him a warning look. "If it's an emergency, I'm okay with it. But if it's for anything else, I'm coming by for a visit... and unlike Cassidy, the damage I deal out will be anything but an accident." The medic was spared from having to answer by a certain wayward teenager exiting the building.

Disheveled and coated in plaster dust, Cassidy brushed her hair back with one grimy hand even as she removed her face-mask. "The room's done," she offered by way of greeting. Then she noticed the expression on the hologram's features and grinned. "What's the matter, Doc. It's plaster, not asbestos."

"Asbestos, I can handle," Ratchet drawled, crossing his arms. He looked over her filthy condition from pony-tail to sneakers and wrinkled his nose. "That dust is going to play havok on my electrical systems."

"Does that mean I can walk back to base?" She did her level best to appear nonchalant about the matter. It wouldn't do to broadcast how eager she was to skip out on a trip inside a squirmy living vehicle, with tentacle seat-belts, heaving car cushions, and an invisible ghost-like driver. Judging by the way the alien narrowed his pixilated eyes at her, she wasn't very successful.

Clearing his throat before the mother of all brawls could start up, Toby gave his daughter a pointed look. Then he nodded toward a nearby hose. Cassidy nodded and followed orders, strolling up to the faucet and twisting the knob.

Unfortunately, Ratchet wasn't as well versed in Human body language. At the abrupt sound of hissing, icy-cold water, he jumped in surprise and stared at the teenager that was steadily drenching herself. "Now, wait a fragging second, here," he exclaimed in annoyance. "Not only is it potentially detrimental to the health of one of your kind to experience those kinds of temperatures, my interior is going to be soaked!"

"Make up your mind, Doc," Cass exclaimed with a laugh. "I can tell yah hate the idea of me being inside your cab just as much as I do! Walking really doesn't bother me, so..."

"I have problems leaving my patients for extended periods," Ratchet growled. "And you're partially concussed! It could take hours for you to get back, and you might not even arrive!"

"Here's hoping," Cassidy mumbled, glancing at the ground. Then she caught herself and realized that not only had she said that aloud, the holographic alien was also currently favoring her with a glare that promised all kinds of agony. She plastered on an innocent smile and drawled, "Hey, come on. Nobody's stopping yah from leaving. Just go back to the base on your own. Believe me when I say this, I've made it across town on worse injuries than this."

"I've noticed that you haven't bothered to mention how you got that head injury," Ratchet drawled knowingly. He was gratified to note that her father looked mildly curious about that as well. Maybe he'd get some answers, for once.

Blushing under the sudden attention, Cassidy mumbled, "It was an accident, and, er... Do we have to talk about it here?" She glanced around at the innocent looking curtained windows on the houses lining the street. Some of the neigbors were no longer attempting to be stealthy, openly gawking from open doorways and windows. Having a notorious criminal for a grandfather that they kept making blockbuster movies out of every other decade tended to make a little thing like privacy almost impossible.

"Fair enough," Toby agreed, willing to trust his daughter's word. The girl tended to get hurt all the time due to her own clumsiness, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When it was deliberate and at the hands of fellow classmates, she readily admitted it without any hesitation. If she staid it was due to an accident, he believed her. His daughter had already pointed out that this conversation was lacking in privacy. Scanning the well populated doorways and windows of all the nearby buildings, his eyes came to rest on a certain irate hologram.

"Getting back to the original subject," Ratchet pointedly reminded them, and was treated to a set of absolutely identical poker faces on both father and daughter. Unbelievable! Giving the cloud strewn sky a 'Give me strength' expression, he counted to a thousand before attempting to reason with them. "The instant I let you out of my sight, you'll probably let yourself get further injured, conveniently lost, or even killed..."

"I'm not Sari," Cassidy pointed out, one eyebrow on the rise. At Toby's questioning look, she rolled her eyes. "Sarita Sumdac, otherwise known as Sari. She's a kid stuck in the same situation as me, living at the base. And she's also a danger magnet."

"Believe it or not, youngling," Ratchet groaned. "So are you, and that's what scares me. The answer is still no. Or did you forget my warnings about the Decepticon threat?" Instead of replying, Cass turned the hose on her hair, effectively drowning out his words. He huffed out a sigh of exasperation.

"Actually," Toby began in thoughtful tones. "I might be able to offer a solution. The work day is over, and I wouldn't mind seeing where she's staying. I'll just take my truck and..."

"Go home," the medic finished for him. At his slightly insulted expression, Ratchet sighed and did his best to explain. "My people are at war, and our base is kept a secret for a reason... What would prevent a 'Con from torturing the information out of you?"

"They don't need to," Toby replied in dry tones. "Everyone knows your 'secret' base is over on Ellis Street in the warehouse district. People see you and your buddies driving in and out of there all the time. You're about as stealthy as a herd of rampaging elephants. What I want to know, is what kind of conditions my daughter is living with and if she's being treated well." At the holoform's stunned, obstinate expression, the Human shook his head. Turning, he began walking toward his work truck. "Cass, come on. We're wasting daylight."

"Coming, Pop," Cassidy called back, turning off the faucet. Racing across the weed-eaten sidewalk, she climbed into her father's truck just as he turned over the engine. Leaning out the open window, she called out to the fuming hologram, "Cheer up, Doc. At least your seat cushions won't get soaked!"

"Now, wait just a fragging second," Ratchet began in annoyed tones, finally coming out of his stunned silence. "You mean to tell me that you Humans knew where we were all along?!" Instead of answering, Toby drove past him, heading toward the Autobot base. The medic swore under his nonexistent breath and started to shut down his holoform, only to abruptly stop. A swift glance around at the houses surrounding him proved that no fewer than twenty-two organics were avidly staring at him from behind their curtains. Now swearing loudly in Cybertronian, he raced up to his alt-mode, climbed in, activated his sirens, and peeled out after them. He caught up to Cassidy and her mech-creator just as they arrived at the base's entrance. Needless to say, it was incredibly difficult for him to convince the older male to leave.

"Thank you for your rather lengthy visit, Mr. Nulte," Ratchet drawled with sarchastic politeness. No, he wasn't sick of this particular Human...just the species in general. Toby was an oddity. Instead of firing off thousands of meaningless questions, he was quiet. Their technology was ignored entirely in favor of seeing the state of the organic's kitchen (poorly stocked but clean), the laundry area (destroyed), sleeping quarters (big enough to house an entire summer camp), and bathrooms. This last part of the tour caused his eyebrows to climb. Not only was it incredibly inconvenient to Cassidy, it also lacked a shower! For the most part, his daughter remained subdued and obedient, a refreshing change from her usual behavior.

Cassidy's father was observant, too smart for his own good, blunt to the point of being rude... Alright, so he was beginning to like the little fragger! Ratchet stared in mounting annoyance as Toby completely ignored him in favor of giving precise instructions to his daughter. Her job status, her methods of avoiding getting stomped, how she was coping with a lack of toiletry items, and where she was going to do her laundry, all of this was covered in detail. Then it was time for the two of them to exchange their good-bye's. Shuddering at the thought of what that would entail, the medic quickly looked away.

The last thing he needed in his memory banks was an endless display of hugging, kissing, and random organic eye leakages. Ratchet huffed in disgust at the thought. No thank-you, not today! It was bad enough when Sari indulged in that sort of behaviour with them! An engine revving to life made him look up in surprise to see Mr. Nulte's truck driving down the ramp and out of sight. "Well, that didn't take as long as I imagined it would," the medic declared, a note of relief in his voice. He vented a sigh as he remembered that there was a certain organic in his presence that needed a medical examination for a mild concussion. "Alright, youngling, now it's time to get you into the med-bay... What?!" Doing a rapid electrical scan of the room, he blinked in surprise. Cassidy, who had been standing right next to him just moments ago, had snuck out of the room while he was distracted. Rolling his optics ceiling-ward, he closed the door to the main entrance (after scanning to make sure there were no recent sneaker tracks exiting, of course). Why was he not surprised?

Mumbling about ungrateful younglings not knowing what was good for them, he headed off to the med-bay. To say that he was annoyed would be an understatement. Slamming into the room, he began assembling the necessary tools for his current patient. Prowl lifted his helm and silently stared in his direction for a moment. Then, without even having to be asked, he laid back down on the medi-berthe. Well, at least one of them knew how to listen! Fifteen minutes later, he was finished. Removing the wire connections, he replaced the protective covering on the side of the tactician's helm and declared, "Alright, you're done. No virus that I could see, but you did need a complete overhaul from the fight. If you see anything in double vision again, contact me immediately. Now, get out of my med-bay!"

"That's good to hear," Optimus warmly declared. "I was just coming to check on him!" He got a polite nod of thanks from the tactician, and a disinterested grunt from Ratchet. Choosing to take this as a sign that all was right with the world, he invited him to walk with him as they both exited the med-bay. "Listen, Prowl, I was wondering if you would like to participate in a little rescue mission tonight? The more 'Bots involved in this one, the better..." Then the automatic doors slid shut, blocking out any further words.

"Unbelievable," Ratchet muttered, putting away his diagnostic tools. Each device was carefully examined, recalibrated, and cleansed, before going back into it's specific storage slot. Then he took out other tools, such as bandages, sterile wipes, his smallest needles (only about the size of a medium sized harpoon), a led-vest, and one jury-rigged x-ray machine made out of an old coin opporated photo-booth. Once this was accomplished, he vented an exasperated sigh, and walked out the door. Somewhere on this base, there was a small adolescent organic named Cassidy... and he was the unlucky mech that had to find her. Was it too much to hope that a concussion would make her easier to handle?

_Two hours later... _

An odd group of vehicles arrived late that night at Detroit High School. It consisted of a semi-truck, a six-by-six army transport vehicle, and a police bike. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the driver's side door opened. The person who stepped out wasn't you're typical driver. She wasn't male or middle aged, nor was she overweight or tattooed. In fact, she didn't look much older than nine year's old. Hopping out of the vehicle with an excited squeal of glee, she danced around in joyful circles, her red pig-tails flying. "Sari," the highway patrolman whispered harshly, making her wince. He climbed off of his motorcycle and crouched down to eye level with her in order to speak with her. By the time he was finished explaining things, the little girl had lost a large amount of her youthful enthusiasm. Nodding solemnly at his words, she saluted in a rough imitation of a soldier, turned, and skipped off into the dark.

Sighing, the policeman muttered something under his breath, but it didn't sound like anything a Human was capable of producing. As he gazed after the girl, he warbled a mixture of electric guitar squawks and saxophone croons. The empty semi-truck sitting behind him responded with a blast of similar noise and began rolling forward, driving up over the curb, across the grass, and into the school. If this wasn't enough, the Army transport vehicle proceeded to move, next. Pieces fell apart, twisted, and wrenched until what stood behind him wasn't a normal machine anymore... it was a giant robot. Instead of reacting like any other individual would, the officer frowned in deep contemplation, and flickered out of existence like a bad movie projection. Going through it's own convulsions, the motorcycle shifted until a frighteningly thin, emaciated looking robot stood in it's place. Then, with long graceful strides, it proceeded to walk into the high school campus as well. Stomping after him, the former military issue vehicle followed the other two until his massive form dissappeared into the dark. Their target was one particular building, the English Wing.

Bumblebee sat upon the building with his arms crossed and a pout on his metallic features. Perfectly silhoueting his form, the moon hovered behind him. Then he started and looked up in surprised relief. Standing next to him, with his head and shoulders towering over the roofline, was Bulkhead. Craning his neck, he could just barely see Optimus in his semi-truck form parked on the lawn down below. The scout scowled in abrupt annoyance and warbled something that sounded like it belonged in a heavy metal concert. Prowl, who was crouched down in front of the building's double doors, hissed at him like an angry cat. Bee unhappily subsided and barely resisted the urge to squirm. This was humiliating! Instead, he twisted around and observed as well as he was able to, at what the tall spindly mech was doing.

Prowl was crouched in front of the door with a welder in his servo. Sparks flew off of the door lock at regular intervals, until with a groan, the barrier slowly swung open. Immediately, he accessed the building's alarm system and disabled the signal indicating a break-in. He turned and gave the others a nod. Without any further delay, he slid through the doors and out of sight. There were no organics inside the building. If there had been, they would have born witness to the frightening sight of a giant robot creeping through the halls, with long spindly arms and legs bent up at weird angles to such an exagerated degree that he resembled a giant black spider! Glowing eyes warily gazed through a thick visor at each hallway as he passed until he reached a stairwell. Then he silently slipped through the opening into the floor above.

Sari was skipping. Okay, so she could act a little more serious about this, but it was so much fun. She was so overwelmed with excitement that she couldn't help dancing around and around in circles. "Wheee," she cheered, happily. "It's so much fun to do something like a grown-up!"

"Hey," an authoritative voice shouted. The campus cop aimed his flashlight at the tiny little girl in wary surprise before sagging in relief. Officer Mitchell been called on duty to take over for Samuels after he'd had a nervous breakdown. Frankly, he couldn't blame the guy. He'd been considering quitting the force as well. Maybe not in quite as dramatic a fashion, but still... Those giant robots were impossible to work with! At the sight of a pair of big brown eyes and obviously youthful features, his expression softened. "What's a kid your age doing out here?"

"Er... Looking for my older brother," Sari chattered nerovously right back. As far as she was concerned, the Autobots were family, so she wasn't technically fibbing about that, just the part about looking for him. She knew exactly where he was! Still, a squeak of guilt crept into her voice despite her best efforts. Now came the time for her second lie. "We're going to the Parent-Teacher-Meeting tonight!"

"Uh huh," the officer drawled, not believing her. He had kids of his own and was able to recognize a lie when he heard one. "What's your brother's name?"

"Bhaunra," Sari chirped back, feeling very proud of herself. That one wasn't a lie. It really was Bumblebee's name in Hindi! "My uncles went to look for him, and now I've lost them! Dad always said, if I get lost or I can't find somebody, I need to ask a policeman!" She beamed at the officer proudly.

"Kid, there's no Parent-Teacher meeting tonight," Officer Mitchell informed her. Parts of her story seemed off. Until he got concrete proof about this family of hers, he was going to treat this with a certain level of distrust. It wouldn't be the first time thieves had used a young kid to commit crimes. "So, tell me... What's this brother of yours like?"

"Well," Sari began, searching for the best descriptions to use. "He's tall..." Somehow, she doubted gigantic, covered in black racing stripes, and able to go from zero to ninety in three-point six seconds was a great way to start. Then an idea hit her and she grinned. There were an awful lot of things the Autobots did that any old boring Human did every day of the week. All she had to do was edit out all the weird alien stuff. "And he loves to play video games," she continued, warming up to the subject. "He takes up the entire couch and he always sleeps with his mouth open and drool coming out... Ooh, and his favorite color is yellow! Let's see, what else does he like?"

Meanwhile, Bumblebee was about to go out of his mind. Tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, he resisted the urge to vent a sigh. The last time he'd done that, one of the support beams to the building had cracked. "Oh, man," he exclaimed, finally not able to take it any more. "What is taking him so long?! All Prowl has to do is... Gaaah!" Practically leaping out of his armor at an unexpected spider-like skitter of long sharp claws, Bee then spent several minutes cringing in agonizing pain. Casting a tearful accusing glare through the hole in the roof his pede was trapped in, he caught sight of a pale blue visor. "Finally... Well, come on! I want to get off of this stupid roof!"

"Awe, it's okay little buddy," Bulkhead rumbled affectionately. Reaching out a massive servo, he patted the scout on the head with enough force to dent his helm. "We'll have you off of there in no time."

"Ow," Bumblebee winced, only to freeze at the sudden unstable shuddering of the roof crossbeam underneath his aft. Every robot stiffened in wary alarm as the building swayed slightly. "Hey, Bulks, don't do that," the scout squawked. With blue optics widened to triple their usual size and intakes held in nervous anticipation, he waited for the building to stop shaking. His perch slowly grew still again, and venting a sigh of relief, he aimed an annoyed glare toward Bulkhead. For his part, the massive mech did look apologetic. Bee shook his head and smiled slightly to show there were no hard feelings. As a loud ker-chunk sounded from down below, however, he almost fell off. "Bwaaah?! What the frag...?

"Calm down, Bumblebee," Optimus sternly ordered. "And private channel communications only! This is a stealth mission." It was the first time he had spoken since they had arrived. A set of large baby blue optics glared down at him through the dark in betrayed accusation. Revving forward slightly on his wheels, he vented a sigh. _'The only way to get your leg free is to deactivate the moorings holding your pede in place,'_ he silently explained by way of appology. _ 'It's the only way to avoid discovery from the local organic law enforcement.'_

_'That doesn't mean I wouldn't have minded a warning first,'_ Bee peevishly messaged back, crossing his arms. The feeling of long narrow claws skittering and poking at him was really disturbing. He let out a surprised squawk when his foot was at last removed completely and he abruptly lost his balance, tumbling helm over aft. A muffled clang filled the air, followed by silence. Slowly, the yellow mech opened one optic. The fall to the ground had happened a lot sooner than he thought it would. In fact, he discovered he hadn't landed on the ground at all! Bumblebee's face-plates heated up in embarrassment as he found himself being held in Bulkhead's arms, bridal style! Before he could lodge a protest, his much larger teammate turned and set him down on the back of Optimus Prime's empty trailer hitch. Then came the chains to strap him in.

Scowling, Bumblebee crossed his arms again as chains were wrapped around his chassis and under his armpits. He felt like a sparkling getting strapped into a travel-chair. Since he was still under orders to maintain audio silence, he reached out and began fiddling with the empty nub where his foot was usually attached. That was when the tarp appeared. "Hey," Bee yelped out loud in surprise, his engine giving an unhappy growl. Lifting up one edge of the rough cloth, he glowered at Bulkhead. Then he cringed at the abrupt engine growl from their leader. _'Not cool,'_ he declared, making sure he spoke via comm-link. _'Do I throw dirty organic material at you? No, because I respect you.'_

_'Actually, Optimus ordered it,'_ Bulkhead sheepishly admitted while rubbing the back of his helm. He shrugged before gathering up some roof insulation. _'I don't know why.'_

_'I'm sorry, Bumblebee,'_ Optimus explained evenly over comm-lines. _'But I'm afraid we're going to have to go incognito with this trip. We're already running enough of a risk as it is.'_ Refocusing his sensors, he grimly studied the roof. Prowl was already hard at work cutting, bending, and gluing a solid sheet of titanium metal to the inner wall of the organic janitor closet in order to patch up the hole in the ceiling. After this was accomplished, the tactician began spraying the metal with white paint. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Bulkhead was busy applying fiberglass insulation from the outside and putting a layer of roofing over the top of that. Looking back at the scout sitting on the back of his trailer hitch, he was gratified to see the mech was following orders, glumly tucking the cloth more securely around himself.

Once Prowl had repaired the door locks on the front of the English Wing, Optimus decided to explain. '_Bumblebee is in a little too precarious a position for safe travel, and I'd feel better if Bulkhead was nearby to steady him if he started to fall off,'_ he announced over the comm line. The tactician stiffened. _ 'So, I'm afraid, you're going to have to retrieve Sari and take her back to base.'_ Now he was giving his leader a silent, accusing glare. _'Look, I realize you really don't like her riding you after what happened last time...'_ Optimus grimaced as memories sprang up of that unfortunate incident.

Their expert in all things ninja had taken the small red-head out for a ride, and come back covered, both inside and out, with grape soda. Despite his best efforts in the wash racks, he had remained sticky for days...and the smell had not been pleasant, either. Since he was still being glared at, Prime tried a different angle. '_Think of this like a bonding exercise,'_ he suggested helpfully. _'It will be good for both of you.'_ Silence met his words and the Autobot leader awkwardly flexed his tires. He considered trying to encourage the Circuit-Su master on what a good opportunity this was as a lesson in self-discipline, but swiftly changed his mind when he recalled the mech's volatile temper volatile temper. Hurriedly putting himself in gear, he began rolling as he declared, _'We will await your arrival back at base!' _

_'Affirmative,'_ Prowl intoned over the link, sounding pained. He watched as Optimus and Bulkhead took off with a roar of engines. Then, with parts twisting and realigning, he transformed until a perfectly ordinary shiny black police motorcycle stood in his place. Electrons and pixels shimmered to life and solidified into the form of a man. For a highway officer, he was overly tall and thin, with a thick brown mustache and a pair of opaque dark-glasses covering his eyes. A quick scan located the organic he'd been ordered to locate and he moved. As he strode swiftly across damaged sidewalks, ripped up lawns, and around broken pieces of what once had been buildings, he considered the circumstances leading to Sari's inclusion in the mission.

She'd been feeling left out. They had tried reasoning with her, explaining that they wouldn't send a youngling of their own species out to battle 'Cons, let alone an organic one. This form of persuasion had fallen on deaf ears. House arrest didn't work, punishment detail met with further failure... and audio shattering Human screams of rage. When Sari slipped out of the base to engage in foolhardy missions of her own devising, it was decided that enough was enough. Optimus concluded that the best way to resolve things peacefully would be to include the child in some of the more benign, less dangerous missions. Prowl and Ratchet had disagreed with him. Personally, they felt that it set a bad precedent not to enforce rules meant for her safety.

Predictably, Bumblebee had disagreed. She had a right to kick Decepticon aft as much as they did! Bulkhead chose to not take a side, unfortunately. This evenly split the vote and Prime, being their leader, made the final choice. Sari was now an unofficial soldier in the Autobot army... sigh... At last, climbing up over a final hill near the organic's cafeteria, he saw them.

"And my older brother Bhaunra loves to play pranks," Sari boasted proudly. "Especially on Grandpa Safta! Sometimes, he even lets me help, and it's so much fun! Like, there was this one time with some paint filled water-balloons..."

A brief smirk played over Prowl's features as his search engine translated the odd foreign words into English. Quite clever, to utilize a foreign language to hide their true origins from the unobservant audience. Of course, such a technique wouldn't work if that alternate language was already well known. He was jarred out of his contemplations when the small red-head noticed him and raced up to his holoform's side, chattering all the way. "Uncle Talasi Karana, you're back," she gleefully exclaimed. "Did you find the building they're holding the Parent-Teacher Meeting in? What about Bhaunra? Is he okay?"

"Yes, Sari," Prowl replied, unable to hide the warmth in his voice at her referring to him as 'Uncle Prowl.' "Unfortunately, there is no Parent-Teacher meeting until next week. We got the dates wrong. Bhaunra, unfortunately, twisted his ankle while attempting to get around a broken section of sidewalk. I have been sent to find you." Lifting his gaze toward the organic officer standing awkwardly nearby, the tactician nodded respectfully. "And I see you have made a new friend?"

"Oh, yeah," Sari chirped excitedly. "Uncle Tal, this is Officer Mitchell! He agreed to help me find you guys!"

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow at the organic in quiet amusement, and nodded in greeting. "Thank you for looking after Sari for us, Officer Mitchell," Prowl stated in all seriousness, switching smoothly to the English language as he spoke. "She has an unfortunate tendancy to wander off..."

"That's okay," Officer Mitchell replied. "I have a couple of kids that do the same thing to me all the time. Hey, she said something about a Parent-Teacher meeting happening tonight..."

One holographic eyebrow on the rise, Prowl quickly formulated a half-truth while scanning the school website for information. "Unfortunately," he sighed. "Our information was false. The meeting is happening one week from now. Again, my thanks for looking after Sari." Nodding politely, he turned and carried the small red-head away while officer Mitchell looked on.

"Alright," Sari enthused, practically jumping out of his arms the instant they were out of sight. She proceeded to spin around in circles until she fell down laughing. "That was so cool! I want to do it again and again and again and... Heeeey, where are the guys?" Turning her head, pig-tails flying as she scanned the courtyard from one end to the other. There was no sign of a big giant semi-truck, or a military transport vehicle, or even a little yellow compace car! "Huh... Hey, Prowl, did the others ditch us?"

"No Sari," Prowl replied stiffly. At the small nine-year-old's bright eyed stare, he let out a put upon sigh. Closing his pixilated eyes, he looked less like a soldier in the Autobot army and more like a martyr. "It has been decided that I will be transporting you back to the base..." Her squeal of delight made him flinch. Sorrowfully, he watched her proceed to do another victory dance, all the while chattering about all the fun tricks they'd be doing and maybe they could stop off at Burger-Bot for a late night meal! As she ran up to his alt-mode and eagerly began strapping on the helmet, he mumbled in Cybertronian, "Primus help me..."

_At that moment..._

_This really isn't the best place for a landing site, _Swindle reflected to himself. _Other than privacy, it has absolutely nothing else going for it._ As he rested amongst the boulders, scraggly trees, and abandoned shacks, other thoughts wended through his CPU. Few people knew or cared about the abandoned mine up in the mountainous regions near Detroit. He was simply thankful that his jeep alt-mode could handle rough terrain or he never would have been able to get up here! Currently, he was sitting on top of what his sensor map had informed him was the most stable ground in the entire area...not that it meant much. That was just a fancy way of saying that it only had three layers of hollow, rotting abandoned mine-tunnels beneath the soil, as opposed to the surrounding area which had four! Yet again, he cursed his contact for making him drive out to such a precarious location.

Venting a sigh, he checked his chronometer for the thousandth time. He'd be dealing stock and trade over his online account or interacting with a customer via a cybernetic uplink under normal circumstances. Of course, this was hardly considered normal. No, it was simply best to maintain a strict radio silence, even going so far as to activate his dampening field in order to dissuade possible witnesses to this little meeting. The fewer individuals that knew about this, the better. He still chose to remain in alt-mode, though. It was faster than his normal bipedal form, could climb unstable surfaces better, and (in the rare instance of his contact demonstrating his almost legendary bad temper) able to dodge incoming fire. His sensor system pinged a warning and he focussed his sensors on the star strewn sky.

One more point of light had appeared that hadn't been there before. Steadily, it grew and brightened until it's presence lit up the landscape like a miniature sun. That's when the sound of the planet's atmosphere exploded all around him as it plowed into the earth! Swindle just barely managed to speed out of the way as several miles worth of the mineshaft collapsed, sinking the entire hillside into the ground in a colossal cloud! Then there was silence. Coughing up a mixture of organic matter and a century worth of dust, Swindle nervously scanned his dim surroundings. A bright red visor glowed eerily back. _Greetings_, a voice stated with silent authority, resonating through his processor with irritating familiarity. As the cloud of airborn dust settled into the decimated landscape, it revealed the mech's grim smile. _It has been a long time...little brother._


	16. Chapter 16

Counterfeit

Chapter 16

Bribes and Accusations

_Happy New Year, everybody! I'd like to thank XxShadowfangxX (yeah, Cassidy's Dad is an interesting character to write. Glad you liked the chapter), to SunnySides (laughing. Yeah, zoot-suits are mentally scaring if they're worn wrong. If you want to see a zoot-suit properly showcased, watch 'The Mask' starring Jim Carey), to Page-Mistress (did the Swindle torment ever really end? Grin), to entercleverpennamehere (Psycho Prowl is loveable in his own way. Just watch out for any and all sharp flying objects when you try to hug him. Grin), to thiefkingbakura1 (Maybe...Innocent expression), to Noella (Smiles mysteriously. Watch and see), to KHGiggle (Yeah, I know what you mean. My family thinks I'm weird when I freak out over a group hug 'pile-on' of six or more people. Glad you're enjoying the story) and to mac (thanks). I don't own 'The Mask,' Styrofoam, Twinkies, Transformers, ramin noodles, or Hackey-Sacks. This chapter was insanely difficult to write, and I'm giving all the credit to God for getting me through it. Now, on with the story._

_In the hills beyond Detroit's City limits..._

Venting a huff of air, Swindle regarded his unexpected companion with wary curiousity. He had a number of brothers dotting the universe, ranging from friendly to dangerous. Onslaught, however, was in a class of his own. The mech was always meddling! Every time the 'Con-mech was starting a particularly interesting new venture in the market-place, he was there to interrupt it. If one of his schemes had failed, his eldest brother suddenly appeared to mop up the mess. It seemed like the huckster couldn't turn around without having 'You-Know-Who' looming over his shoulder-plating! So, he felt perfectly justified when he sarchastically inquired, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Swindle, I'm shocked at you," Onslaught declared, raising a brow ridge disdainfully. "No inquiries as to my health? Not even a handshake? I could almost believe you aren't happy to see me!" His accent was different from the last time they had met. Back a century ago during their last unfortunate meeting, it had been gritty and foul, the product of a life of back alleys and distant star-ports. This time it was posh and cultured, the epitome of pampered living.

Raising a brow ridge of his own, Swindle wondered what fake identity his brother had adopted now. He knew the mech dabbled in a number of circles, slowly gaining more power through manipulation and knowledge. And he was always trying to control his younger brothers. Like this meeting, for example? Onslaught had learned that he was on this tiny little mud-ball of a distant planet from someone... and he hadn't breathed a word about where he was going to anyone! That meant that his older brother's spy network was even more thorough than he'd realized. Then the attack came. It was sneaky and underhanded, but not unexpected. One second, everthing was fine! Well, maybe not fine, but a conversation with mild threats was better than their usual explosive interactions. The next, his helm felt like it was going to split in half!

He squeezed his optics shut as the sensation of something sharp and mechanical burrowed past his armor and firewalls like they were non-existant. A garbled curse in Praxian spilled out of his vocalizer as he fell bonelessly to his knees. Swindle barely had the presence of mind to catch himself before his face could make a very painful impact with the ground.

"Language, brother," Onslaught chided, shaking his head disaprovingly. The older mech leaned against a nearby cliff face nonchalantly as he continued to watch Swindle writhe in agony. There was, however, a real thread of pity in his optics. He let out a disapproving huff. "Really," he continued. "If you'd just be a little more open, I wouldn't have had to use a logic worm in the first place. Boring into your processor... stealing pertinent information about your current plans and activities. How else can I properly look after your well being?"

"Go frag yourself," Swindle rasped back, interupting him. He could feel the piercing agony of the viral program deploying, rooting around through his circuits, and latching on to targeted systems. It was a device designed specifically for hacking Cybertronians and it was illegal in every quadrant in Autobot held space. Considering it was an invention he'd originally come up with, he should know. Dentas gritted together as he could literally feel data getting transmitted to Onslaught and wiped from his memory core! Good thing he had a contingency plan for just such an emergency. Activating a specialized device in his helm that shone like a beacon, he felt the logic worm immediately abandon the circuit it was latched to and bite down on that, instead. The next instant, there was a flash and both the device and the logic worm disintigrated. More importantly, it sent a loud shriek of feedback through to the hacker.

Onlsaught didn't know what hit him. He barely contained a howl of unmitigated agony as it was now his turn to stagger to his knees. For a moment, just a brief moment, his visual sensors flickered and blinked out. Rasping air in a vain attempt to cool overheating systems, he fought to imobilize the crippling effects of the feedback loop that had resulted from the logic worm's tragic demise. Condensation beaded his faceplates as his primary systems finally gained control and rapidly changed his internal temperature. A proud smile slowly stretched across his features that looked more like a grimace.

His younger brother had grown stronger. Good! He didn't dare let Swindle know how impressed he was, though. Such a boost in ego would make him absolutely unbearable to deal with. So, he went with mockery. "Cute," the 'Con rasped, the smile on his faceplates twisting into condescension. "You surprise me, little brother."

"Keep this up and I'll get downright adorable," Swindle quipped back with a mocking grin. One servo reached up and felt the hole in his helm where the logic worm had penetrated. Barely the size of a dime, by Cybertronian standards, it was a pinprick. Grumbling to himself, he removed a bit of mesh and proceeded to patch the opening, all the while not taking his optics or his cannon off of his older brother. It wouldn't do to let his guard down a second time. Inwardly, he was doing his best to contain his panic. Filing system after filing system were hurriedly riffled through in his processor in a vain attempt to figure out what had gotten stolen or destroyed. The situation was bad enough, consideriong Onslaught had managed to get in there to begin with! He watched as his older brother slowly climbed to his pedes and began to stagger away. "Hey, Onslaught," he taunted, feeling the relief of another family reunion coming to a close and becoming bold. "Leaving so soon? And it was just getting to be like old times, too."

"Oh, I'm not leaving, yet," Onslaught replied. Turning his helm, he favored the smaller mech' abruptly nervous expression with a pleasant smile. "No. I find I have some unexpected business to attend to here in this quadrant of space." Turning, he resumed walking into the night. "Don't worry, little brother. We'll meet again. You have my word on that."

Truly intimidated, Swindle stared after the gun-former until he was out of sight. At that moment his HUD pinged letting him know which filing systems were incomplete or damaged. A chill swept through his spark and his faceplates became pale. Onslaught knew about the plan! If he interferred, the huckster could kiss his most lucrative sales scheme good-bye! Then his features hardened in resolve. The only way he had even a chance of pulling off this latest venture was by acting fast. That meant spending hours of research on Human behavior, pulling out all the stops, and hiring Cassidy tomorrow no matter what! Raising his arm, a holographic image appeared that was a direct patch in to the spy cameras infesting the Autobot base. What was that crazy femme up to, right now?

_At the Autobot base..._

Cassidy wasn't a five star chef by any stretch of the imagination. Then again, none of the food she'd ever made had managed to poison anybody either, so she figured her cooking skills were somewhere in the middle range. That was why she was frying up random vegetables. She had sliced carrots, green onions, celery, and tomatos. Now, she was squinting at the instructions for cooking ramin noodles while simultaniously stirring and filling up a coffee-mug's worth of water. Sending a glance toward the giant concrete block masquerading as an alien's couch, she chewed her lower lip in indecision. When she had finally managed to escape Ratchet's tender mercies, she had been sore, her head had been wrapped up in three layers of bandages, and she was starving! So, naturally after she had unwound the interesting accident victim fashion statement from her scalp, she'd set to work cooking.

Then the robots arrived. Bumblebee was carried into the med-bay by Optimus, bridal style, screeching in Cybertronian the whole way. Once this was acomplished, the big guy had left for his office. Bulkhead didn't stick around for very long. After handing over a large severed robotic foot with Ratchet, he had headed off for his room. And then Sari had arrived. She came stomping into the base in a perfect little kid snit, following after Prowl and yelling at him in Hindi. Cass hadn't understood much, except that the words 'Burger-Bot' were used about five times. That was when they made eye contact. Scowling at her, the little red-head turned and marched away, disappearing behind the giant robot furniture. 'Okay,' the brunet mused, 'That means she's angry at me. It probably has something to do with what happened Bumbles.'

Lazily, she headed across the kitchenette to begin heating up a coffee mug full of water in the microwave. Punching in the numbers, she hit start, turned, and jumped in alarm! Cassidy was about ready to bludgeon that creeping, shadowy patch of darkness into oblivion! And then she recognized it. It was Nicky, one of the alien pets Swindle had abandoned with her when he was running from the cops. The skin creature, which looked so much like a raggedy gothic black and silver ball-gown, inch-wormed and slithered into the room, blindly feeling around with it's scraggly black whiskers. As looks went, it kind of reminded her of a filter fish she'd seen in an aquarium, once. "Oh, Nicky," the brunet groaned, slumping against the counter. "Don't scare me like that!" Raising it's gaping, hollow neckline, it 'stared' at her for a long moment. Then it began ecstatically rolling around in a patch of slime on the floor. Grimacing, the teenager made a mental note not to pet it for a few days.

The microwave chose that moment to beep, indicating that the water was hot enough to use. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite ready for it. Hastily turning the flame on the stove down to low, she stirred the contents, she then hustled across the kitchen to begin fishing around in the refrigerator. 'Let's see,' she mused. 'I have a choice of salami, or... ugh! Burger-bot hamburgers!' She scowled at the new acumulation of leftover fast food boxes that were beginning to take up residence in the back of the fridge. Pretty soon, they were going to be dealing with another one of those blackened tentacle monsters, she just knew it! It was while she was staring at the piles of 'almost food' that an idea suddenly occurred to her. Grinning, she grabbed three of them and stacked them on the countertop.

Opening up the first Styrofoam contaner, she gagged. A half eaten Burger-bot meal stared back at her. It was the Twinky of the sandwich world and she was halfway convinced it was secretly made out of artificial materials. Cassidy looked up at the still silent massive concrete couch and grimaced. Well, the kid did want a hamburger, and she was willing to make the sacrifice of eating one of these junk-food arifacts if it meant Sari would forgive her. Sighing as she got out a knife, she cut off the bite marks out of the three burgers and tossed them in the trash. Then she crumpled the rest of the uncontaminated 'meat' into the pot.

"Hey, Cassidy," an abrupt, booming voice exclaimed right behind her. Letting out a yelp and almost dropping her knife, she turned around to find a giant metal robot face hovering three inches away from her. A quick glance proved that Nicky was long gone. That traitor! She looked back as Bulkhead beamed a lumpy smile at her. Opening his huge metal mouth, he exclaimed with the force of a rifle blast, "Guess what!"

"W-what is it, Bulks," Cass stuttered nervously while cringing a smile right back. This was the first time she'd been asked 'Guess what,' by a giant killer robot. She had a right to be a little alarmed. The real question she had was, how in the world he had managed to sneak up on her! He was the clumsiest one of them all! "Oh, and could yah back up a little?"

"Woops, sorry," Bulkhead rumbled sheepishly. "I forgot." The robot's giant metal face slowly retreated, the sounds of gears grinding filling the air, until he was exactly one inch further away. Tiny blue optics blinked with innocent pride at her from the depths of a mountain of lumpy metal parts. Then he was abruptly excited again. "But, you didn't guess what I wanted to tell you, yet!"

"Um," was Cassidy's eloquent answer. "Well..." Wracking her brains for anything a giant metal robot might possibly have to tell her, she was at first a complete blank. Thankfully, something burning distracted her. She turned back to the stove with a startled exclaimation and began frantically stirring the contents of the pan. The vegetables had gotten scortched, yet the Burger-Bot mystery meat still looked exactly the same as it had been when she first put it in the pan. Spearing a small chunk of of the pinkish-brown substance, she suspended it right in the stove's flame and stared as it didn't even singe. It didn't burn?!

"Er, Cassidy?" Tiny blue optics blinked at her in mystified curiousity, even as he rumbled, "Why are you trying to turn organic fuel into carbon?" Bulkhead stared at her as she tried and failed to explain why meat that had the qualities of asbestos wasn't exactly the healthiest thing to have around. "Oh," he replied after a moment, the lack of comprehension painfully obvious. Then he was all smiles again. "So, anyways... The reason why I'm excited is I get to talk to my Carrier today!" He performed a little shuffle of excitement at the announcement, causing a minor earthquake.

"Th-that's great, Hon," Cass stuttered, doing her level best to avoid falling to the ground. Bulkhead continued to beam a lumpy smile at her, obviously expecting her to continue. She searched for something else to say and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What do yah mean by 'Carrier?"

"Oh, um," the lumpy face fell into well worn lines of confusion. He blinked in deep contemplation. "Er... I guess you'd say, 'Mom?"

"Good for you, Bulks," she enthused, offering up a nervous smile. Inwardly, her brain was in melt-down mode. In honest confusion, Cassidy wondered, 'What, the...? How in the world can a giant killer robot make baby robots?!' She blinked as her imagination came up with a number of solutions, such as... An image grew in her brain of a huge factory, called 'Killer Aliens Inc.' Lightning flashed overhead in a classic movie monster style. Inside this imaginary building was a huge conveyer belt surrounded by giant mechanical scientists in white lab coats. "Congradulations," one of the alien doctors cackles villainously. "Mr. and Mrs. Slaughter, meet the latest addition to your family! Isn't she a darling?" The machine he holds up looks a little like a tape player, but with glowing eyes and a buzz saw arm. When the little saw reves to life with a high pitched whine of fury, all of the grown up robots coo adoringly at it.

Blinking, Cassidy focused back on reality. 'That was a little weird,' she reflected. 'Well, at least it's more believeable than robot pregnancies...' A sudden mental picture of the entire Autobot team with protruding metal bellies popped up in her mind and she shuddered. 'Ewww...I am not going there!' Bulkhead was in the process of pulling his giant head out of the kitchenette. 'Good,' she mused, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. 'It was beginning to get a little claustrophobic around here... And my brain was going to a strange place.' As she watched the gigantic metal robot slowly rise to his truly awe inspiring four story tall height, she smiled. The huge robot gave her a lumpy smile right back, waved once, and went SKIPPING down the hallway with humongous crater inducing crashes into the ground. Terrified, she clutched the countertop for safety as he leaped down the hall and out of sight.

Predictably, this garnered some attention. "Bulkhead," Ratchet snarled in Cybertronian from his office. With a whine of hydraulics and rust, the medi-Bot peered out into the hallway and glared. "How many times have I told you? No running, skipping, or weapons fire in the base!"

"Oops," Bulkhead mumbled in the same language with deafening sheepishness. Slumping where he stood, he gave Ratchet a kicked puppy expression. "Sorry."

"That's alright, youngling," the doctor answered with a resigned sigh. "Just try to be a little more careful. Looking up, he brightened. "Oh, how are your creators? I know you are due to communicate with them, today."

"I haven't talked to them, yet," Bulkhead complained, his faceplates heating up in embarassment. Shuffling one oversized pede in the newly formed rubble of his spontaneous skipping moment, he vented a sigh. "That's what I was going to go do, now."

Feeling vaguely guilty for interrupting him, Ratchet mumbled, "Ah... Well, tell them I said 'Hi.' I've got more work to do, so..." As he'd hoped, this seemed to brighten the youngling right up. Bulkhead gave him a wide, face-plate stretching smile of excitement and took off for his room... skipping again. The medic winced at the sound of something glass-like shattering in his office and he growled. "Bumblebee," he snarled. "If you broke another of my instruments, I'm reconfiguring your frame into an organic's bread-making machine!" Turning, he stomped back into his office, the doors sliding shut before anyone outside could hear Bee's latest excuses about why something broke.

Slowly, Cassidy rose from her crouched over position behind the kitchen table. That had been a close one. Her eyes flickered nervously toward the pile of bandages sitting on a nearby counter. They were the same ones that Ratchet had wrapped around her head at a triple thickness level due to her partial concussion. If the medic ever found out she'd taken them off as soon as she was out of his sight...? She shuddered. Nope, she wasn't going there! Instead, she focused on the soup behind her... which was steadily boiling over. Letting out a yelp of alarm, the brunet hurriedly turned everything off. Well, at least it was hot enough, right? It must be done! Raising her voice, the teenager called out, "Sari, Dinner's ready!"

"I'm not talking to you," a squeeky, annoyed sounding voice called back from the general vecinity of the giant concrete couch. "You were mean to Bumblebee! So, therefore, you don't deserve to get talked to!"

Ladling a generous helping of soup into a couple of paper bowls, Cassidy wondered, "Aren't yah talking to me now?" At the nine-year-old's childish sounding huff of annoyance, the brunet grinned. There she was! Shoving a plastic spork into each bowl, she began wandering in the girl's general direction. She knew exactly what it would take to earn forgiveness. "Well, okay," she agreed, faking disappointment as she finally arrived in front of the gargantuine piece of alien made furniture. "I guess I'm going to have to eat all this Burger-Bot mystery meat soup all by myself."

"Oooh, yummy," Sari exclaimed. A small, eagerly grinning nine-year-old abruptly peered down at her over the edge of the giant sized concrete couch. "Is it with Ramen noodles?!"

"Maybe," Cassidy drawled, glancing down at the steaming bowl. "You'd have to agree to talk to me if yah want to know." The truth was, the vast majority of what went into a burger-Bot meal was a mystery to her. Even the origin of the meat patty. So, therefore, she had decided to toss out everything except the meat and start from scratch. Fresh onions, carrots, celery, and a can of tomatoes had all found their way into the pot. 'Hey,' she mentally shrugged. 'Sari eats this stuff all the time, and it hasn't killed her yet. I'm willing to eat a little of it if it will get the kid to let go of this grudge.'

"YAY, I HAVEN'T HAD THAT IN FOREVER," Sari squealed at ear bleeding decibels. Then she suddenly remembered she was still angry at the older girl. Proudly, she raising her chin and crossed her arms in stubborn refusal. "I-I mean, I'm not interested."

"Are yah sure?" Cassidy made a show of innocently considered the steaming bowl of soup, then gave the nine-year-old a kicked puppy expression. "Because I made it just for you," she continued. Then she gave an exagerated shrug. "Oh, well. I guess I'll have to eat all of it myself..."

"Nooooo, gimmee, gimmee, gimmee," Sari exclaimed, straining for the bowl of soup. Laughing, Cassidy handed it to her and the red-head wasted no time stuffing her face. "Alright," she grumbled once her mouth was clear. "I'll forgive you... As long as you promise not to do that to 'Bee again! Deal?"

Nodding, Cass answered back, "Deal!" Picking up her own bowl off the ground, she leaned agaist the side of the industrial age furniture and began eating as well. It briefly occurred to her that she hadn't seen any of the killer robots pick up Sari and put her on the couch, and she wondered how the kid had gotten up there. A glance to the left revealed the answer. On the furthest corner of the concrete couch was a Human sized ladder, but not one that looked like it was made by Human hands. Walking over, she studied it more closely. Folded and twisted like origami, the ladder was one solid piece of sheet metal steel! All the sharp edges were smoothed and curled under to prevent injuries. Raising a hand, she gave the nearest rung a tug and grinned when it didn't budge an inch.

"Isn't it cool," Sari enthused from the top of the couch. "Bulkhead made them this morning while you were off at school. They can even move the furniture around without damaging them, since they're not bolted to the ground!"

"Awsome," Cassidy absently agreed, deep in thought. Bulkhead was an absolute sweetheart for making these things. 'I definitely owe him a hug,' she silently mused to herself before she suddenly wrinkled her nose. The sudden mental image of trying to wrap her arms around his massive, lumpy trash-can body popped into her mind. 'I'd look like a fly on a wind-shield! Maybe I could hug his leg?' This called up the imagined consequence of getting her hair caught in his kneecap. 'Nah, way too awkward! What about his face?' She imagined standing there in the kitchen like usual, and then having Bulk's massive misshapen face appearing out of thin air like it always did. Only, instead of cringing away in alarmed surprise, she pictured herself gracefully loping the three steps separating them. Dramatic music began to rise to a crescendo as she wrapped her arms around his mishapen chin lovingly while he flinched his tiny blue flashlight eyes closed... Scowling, she nixed that idea because it was way too weird. Unfortunately, that only left...

Her expression cleared as it became obvious that there was really only one option left. Okay, so it would probably confuse him and she knew she'd feel just this side of rediculous doing it... But she'd made up her mind. She was going to hug one of his thumbs. 'Who knows,' she mused. 'Maybe it will even cheer the big guy up? I know it will make me feel better.'

"Yeah," Sari continued, unaware that the other girl had drifted off. "Bulkhead showed me how he did it and everything! See, he has one on the coffee-table, too! He would have shown you if you hadn't decided to be all mean and ditch Bumblebee..." She scowled for a moment down at the teenager, before moodily going back to her Burger-Bot soup. "Why did you do that, anyway?"

"Because I wanted to see my dad," Cass answered, not looking up from her own bowl. She had managed to shuffle most of the Burger-Bot meat chunks to the side and was concentrating on eating everything else. The lingering memory of burn-resistant mystery meat was lingering in her brain. Looking up, it was to behold a mystified little face peering down at her. "Hey, look! I just didn't want a bunch of giant robots, camera crews, and secret agents hovering around all over the place! Okay? It's impossible to have any family time with so many strangers muscling in and staring at you!"

"Huh," Sari mumbled in abrupt understanding. "I have that kind of problem all the time with my dad... Or at least, I used to. Why didn't you explain it to 'Bee?! He would have left you alone while that was going on!" At the disbelieving expression that flitted across the older girl's face, the nine-year-old snorted in derision. "Cass, you know what your problem is? You don't trust people enough!"

"And you trust people too much," Cassidy countered back. Sari stuck her tongue out mockingly, and not to be outdone, the brunet blew a loud rasberry. This sent Sari into a giggle fit that almost made her drop her bowl of soup. After that, they both subsided into a contented silence. Too bad it only lasted about ten minutes. An abrupt deafening crunch occurred that vaguely resembled a bunch of cars smashing into one another at high speed. Ratchet emerged from his office shortly afterwards, a squirming and loudly protesting Bumblebee in his grasp. Stomping over to the living room, he dumped the scout on the concrete couch and snarled something in Cybertronian at him that sounded vaguely like an elecric guitar riff. The yellow 'Bot flailed, waving his arms all over the place while whining and crooning in protest. Wagging a taloned finger at the younger mech, the medic scolded him warningly, only to pause.

Pouting unhappily, Bumblebee was picking at the weld lines surrounding his newly reattached pede. It itched so much! Ugh! Then he cringed as Ratchet abruptly loomed over him, glaring. "Youngling," he drawled gently in Cybertronian. "What did I tell you about scratching my repair-work before it's had the chance to cool and harden?"

"N-not to do it," Bee whimpered hesitantly. At the medic's congenial nod, he gained a little more courage. "But Doc-Bot, it itches so bad!"

Waving his servo's in the air, Ratchet exploded back, "I don't fragging care! You're lucky you have any kind of pede at all after the stunt you pulled! Why, if that stringy substance had gotten any closer to your fuel lines... I said stop that!" Bee gulped in alarm and slowly withdrew the taloned servo he'd been gradually inching closer to one particularly distracting weld line. The medic let out an exasperated huff and closed his optics in an effort to compose himself. "As I was saying, you nearly lost your pede to that stringy organic substance. And if it falls off due to your fiddling around with it, I'm putting your servos under temporary paralysis! UNDERSTOOD?"

"Y-yes, Sir," the scout yelped, cringing away from the medic in alarm.

Ratchet glared him down for a spark-pulse, just to make sure his threat would stick. That was when an alert appearing on his HUD made him blink. Accessing the file, it informed him that there were organics nearby. Turning his helm, he first beheld Sari, cowering at the far end of one of the couch's armrests. Next, he located a certain teenager standing on the ground nearby. The medic's blue optics narrowed and darkened in anger. "Cassidy," he rumbled dangerously. "Where is the bandage I wrapped around your head?"

"Kitchen," Cassidy answered stiffly, glaring back. "I couldn't hear anything through it...and I don't see what good a bandage would do for a stupid concussion, anyway." The medic grumbled something unintelligable and walked away. Glancing around the corner of the couch, she watched Ratchet crouch down and blindly feel around the Human sized kitchenette with his massive servo. A few chairs got knocked down and the fridge got pushed aside like it was doll furniture.

"That's why I'm the doctor and you're the patient, youngling," Ratchet growled back. At last, with the bandage in hand, he stood up and began making his way back toward the 'living room' portion of the base. "Now, hold still... I said HOLD STILL!" Sari and Bumblebee winced as an epic struggle took place between Human and machine. The medic won, of course, but it was still a valient effort on Cassidy's part. In the end, the brunet yet again had an honorary turban of stretchy bandages, and a furiously cursing doctor to thank for it. Quietly, they all watched the elder Cybertronian stomp his way across the room and back into the med-bay, the doors sliding closed and locking behind him.

"Wow," Bumblebee muttered, still in a state of hushed amazement. Then he looked down at Cassidy's head, which looked nearly twice as big as normal and grinned. "Suddenly, my life doesn't look that bad!"

"Bumblebee," Sari scolded, her hands on her hips. "Ratchet must have wrapped up her head for a reason! I didn't even know she was injured! Hey, Cass! How did you get hurt?"

"Had an unfortunate encouter with a football player," the brunet drawled. At Sari's wide eyed look of alarm, Cassidy smirked. "Relax, kid. The guy just wasn't looking where he was going, and I didn't get out of the way in time. It happens. All I've got is a mild headache."

Suspicious of the older girl's unexpected honesty, Sari hesitantly agreed, "Well, okay... But if you start feeling worse..."

"Okay, enough of that," Bumblebee declared, growing bored of the conversation. "I'm the one who's recovering from a missing limb and being abandoned on a rooftop all day! That's easily more serious than a con-cuss-on, whatever that is! So, therefore, I get all sympathy points and total use of the television! Now... Where's the controller?" He looked around, growing more worried by the second. It was nowhere in sight. Casting panicky, watering blue optics toward the two Humans in his company, he begged, "Guys, help me find the controller! I'll offline from boredom if I don't find it. That almost happened to me when I was on the school roof! I need it now more than ever since my game system blew up!"

"Oookay," Sari agreed, staring at him like he was crazy. Looking around the massive tennis court sized concrete couch, she couldn't see the giant controller anywhere. Walking over to the nearby solid rock armrest, she reached up, grabbed the edge, and hoisted herself up high enough to see on top of it. Then she looked over her shoulder at Bumblebee. By this point, he was frantic. Doubled over the back of the couch, he was calling for the missing piece of technology like it was a lost dog. She couldn't see the other couch arm because the scout was blocking her view. Collapsing back on his aft with a distressed huff of vented air, he began patting down his armor like the controller would magically fall out of one of the metal gaps. Rolling her eyes, she brushed off a months worth of dust and called down to the teenager still on the ground. "Hey, Cass, do you see the controller anywhere down there?"

"Nah," Cassidy replied, feeling bored. "Maybe it's..."

"Hold it," Bumblebee crowed triumphantly pulling the missing controller out from behind his aft. "I've found it! Yep, Cybertronian superiority saves the day again! What would you Humans do without us?"

Some statements were too good to resist. Climbing up the folded metal origami ladder, Cassidy drawled. "We'll have a better chance of making it past thirty?"

"Hah, shows what you know," the scout declared in superior tones. Tilting his head back arrogantly, he struck a dynamic pose. "We have way more than thirty channels. The Cybertronian technology we've augmented into this system means we have over a thousand awsome channels of entertainment! Mother Technology triumphs over organics again!" With that, he turned on the television and began changing channels as fast as a deck of cards getting shuffled. Staring at the screen, both Cassidy and Sari blinked in disbelief. It was going by too fast to even see any images, even the menu up above couldn't keep up with the rapid jumps... In other words, they was just staring at a black screen! Bumblebee tossed the industrial strength titaneum controller on the concrete coffee-table in front of them with an unhappy moan. He declared in wailing tones, "THERE'S NOTHING OOOONNNNN!"

"Ah, Bumblebee," Optimus declared cheerfully as he entered the rec-room. "Just the mech I've been looking for!" He slowed to a stop and thanked Primus that the scout wasn't in the med-bay. Judging by the muffled string of curse words coming out of that side of the base, he guessed Ratchet wasn't in the mood for company. "You got something in the mail!"

Confusion written across his faceplates, the scout delicately took the small cardboard box from the Primes hand. For a long moment, Bumblebee stared at it in fascination. Then his optics lit up bright enough to cause seizures. "Yes," he exclaimed with glee, holding the box over his head like a prize. "My new game system has arrived! Now it won't matter how boring organic television is, because we've got interactive games! The day is saved!"

"Actually, Bee," Sari interjected. "It's one in the morning. So, technically, it's night-time..."

"Shhhh, I am doing something that requires absolute concentration," Bumblebee interupted, his optics narrowed and focussed on one tiny, miniscule cardboard box. Long talons delicately sliced appart the tape sealing over each seam. "I have a sacred duty to the gaming arts to perform! Behold! The X-Box two-thousand and fifty! This has surround sound, hightened graphics, an optional three-D mode, and energy boosters so you can really feel the action! ...Whatever that means." He paused and absently scratched his helm, as he continued to study the miniscule English words on the side of the box. Then he was all business, again. Hopping down off of the couch, he practically dive bombed the view-screen. In seconds, he had every wire and chord detached from their respective devices and was squinting down at positively microscopic small print on a tiny instruction manual.

Carefully selecting the first stray chord, he gently picked it up between two claws. A quick comparison between the simple line drawing in the booklet and then he began lining it up for a little pin mark masquerading as a plug on the game machine. "Slowly," he mumbled out loud as he inched the chord closer. This time, the scout missed it by half an inch. Condensation forming on his face-plates, he tried again, edging the power chord ever closer. "Almost," Bumblebee whimpered, before he missed again. Looking almost desperate, he made another attempt to plug it in. He vented a sigh of relief and smiled triumphantly down at the tiny machine. "There! Now all I have to do is fifteen more connections and I'll be done!"

Sari stared at the scout in growing exasperation. So far, all he'd done for the past fifteen minutes was crouch down on the floor with his big metal butt in the air. "Um, Bee," she began after another long moment of listening to another personalized pep-talk. "Don't you think I could set that up faster? My hands are just the right size to plug all that stuff in almost instantly..."

"Wait a minute," Bumblebee testily interupted her. "Sari, do you mind?! This is more difficult than it looks!" He glared over his shoulder at the small Human, irritated at having been disturbed from such a strenuous task. She'd made him miss the plug again! At the nine-year-old's hurt expression, his features softened into an uderstanding smile. "Look, I know you want to help, but you're an organic!"

Propping her hands on her hips, she demanded, "So?" The red-head glared, feeling the first twinges of true anger beginning to grow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"So, I'm a mechanoid, a being that's made out of pure machinery," Bee smugly declared. He swept a servo grandly over the dismembered pieces of machinery strewn all over the floor. "And what exactly is it that a game-system is made of, hmmm?"

"Machinery," Sari replied with a groan, already seeing where he was going with this.

"Exactly," Bumblebee smugly declared like it was the grandest revelation in the universe. "So, therefore, a machine (namely me), would know how to put another machine together far better than any organic! Just relax, I'll have this beauty assembled in..." He did a quick mental calculation based on how long it had taken him to plug in the first chord. "Five more hours!" Turning back around, he missed the mixture of hurt and rage brimming up on the nine-year-old's face.

Someone else noticed, though. Watching the nine-year-old who was on the verge of a screaming fit, Cass wracked her brains for a possible solution with as little bloodshed as possible. Hugs were out. Aside from doctoring the odd injury, she really wasn't that great at comforting others. Unfortunately, that left very few other options. Bribery was a lost cause. That much was obvious with how angry the kid was. So, distraction was the way to go! Before Sari could deafen her into next week with the mother of all screaming fits, the brunet blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Hey," she exclaimed. "I know what we could do! Let's play Hackey-Sack!"

"Hacky-what?" the nine-year-old echoed, momentarily distracted. Sari was familiar with most games, thanks to her dad getting her toys for every sport known to man. Unfortunately, most of those games required other players and her dad was too paranoid to let her actually meet anyone her age. This meant she usually just played with them by herself. Yep, just her, a baseball, a bat, and no friends... Not that she was complaining, or anything! She liked to pretend she was part of one of those big professional teams, like the star pitcher at a baseball stadium. Of course, then a baseball would inevitably shatter a several thousand dollar computer system terminal by accident and she would get grounded. This had also happened to her basketball, her soccor ball, her lacrosse stick, her bowling ball, etc. The only reason her hockey equipment hadn't met the same fate, was the fact that she'd only just gotten it before her dad disappeared. It was understandable that the red-head was immediately interested. Curious, she inquired, "Is that a board game?"

"No, it's a sport," Cassidy explained, unaware of the excitement this knowledge was about to unleash. She squinted, trying to come up with a better definition. "Or, it's almost a sport? It's this little lightweight bag full of styrofoam beads. What you're supposed to do is throw it up into the air, and everyone takes turns kicking it..." At the red-head's confused expression, she trailed off. The truth was, after signing the contract with her brother and all her friends to never touch another video game controller again as long as she lived, she had existed in a state of bored exile. They spent hours on end fiddling around with buttons and she was stuck outside. This meant that she had to come up with other forms of entertainment. She'd read a positively ancient set of encyclopedias from the nineteen-fifties cover to cover, gotten into fights (not very hard to do), and hung around her grandparents a lot. That was how she learned about all these interesting, antiquated games from fifty years ago. At Sari's confused expression, she decided it was probably better to teach by demonstration. Heading off to her room, she was back a speedy twenty minutes later by sprinting the last hundred feet or so.

"Yah start out this way," Cassidy instructed, breathing hard. She tossed the small cloth sack into the air. Lifting a knee, she bounced it into the air a few times and even bopped it off her forehead once. Then she grinned and caught it. "And you do things like that! The main trick is not to use your hands unless you're catching it."

"It looks kinda like soccer," Sari skeptically answered. As far as stone age toys went, it wasn't that bad. The nine-year-old stared at the small cloth ball like it was an interesting museum artifact. Nonetheless, she still caught it when it was tossed her way. She was also expecting it to be a lot heavier. Letting out a surprised exclaimation when the the lightweight toy bounced off her hand, she rushed to catch it and almost fell down. Righting herself, she took a deep breath and raised one knee in preparation, then she tossed the ball into the air. With an anti-climactic noise that sounded like 'shish,' it fell to the ground. Glaring at the hackey-Sack like her miss was it's fault, the nine-year-old scooped it up off the floor and tried again... only to miss kicking it a second time. Plopping back on the concrete ground again, with another, 'shish,' the toy laid there, as if it was mocking her.

At the almost permanent pout on Sari's face, the brunet drawled, "Ah, it's okay kid. You've almost got it. Look, why don't you practice the movements. It should be a lot easier once you know how to move your legs the right way." Sari gave her a skeptical expression and Cass grinned. "Seriously, it does help. I had to do the same thing when I was just starting out. Look, yah just do this!" The teenager began hopping on one leg and kicking her other leg in the air like a demented can-can dancer.

Taking one look, Sari disolved into a fit of giggles. "Th-that's rediculous looking," she chortled. Then she saw what the teenager was doing. Somehow scooping the hackey-sack up off the floor with one sneakered foot, Cass bopped it up into the air, bounced it off the top of her head, juggled it on both elbows, tossed it over her head and caught it behind her back! "Ooooh," the nine-year-old coo'd, her eyes wide with wonder. The next instant, she was a hyper-active ball of energy as she practically tackled the teenager, squeeling, "Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee!"

"Nuh-uh," the brunet laughed, barely ducking out of the way of sticky little kid fingers. With a deft slight of hand trick, the hackey-sack was safely out of sight. Then she wagged a finger at Sari warningly. "Not until yah practice those hop-kicks." At the return of the red-head's infamous pout and a big set of puppy eyes, Cass relented, but only slightly. "Look, if I do them with yah and make it into a game, will you do them? I was serious about how it would help."

This began one of the weirdest games of follow the leader that either of them had ever played. Ranging all over the common room, and even under the table in the kitchenette, it was strenuous, but fun. Cassidy even added a few rules, like if the one leading fell down they switched off and the other one got to be leader. Sari came up with the rule that if an alien happened to cross their paths, they had to hop on the other leg. Considering the fact that Rover and Nicky had both come snuffling into the rec-room, it was a legitimate rule. "After all," Sari had declared in authoritative, snobby tones, as she shook green slime off of her boot thanks to Rover's drooling habits. "It's not as effective if only one leg gets good at kicking and the other one is terrible!" Then she saw a certain yellow 'Bot watching them from over the back of the couch and waved enthusiastically. "Hey, Bee," she called out. "Come on and play! We're having fun!"

Startled, the scout exclaimed, "What? Me? Ah, thanks Sari, but I can't! This game machine won't assemble itself!" With that, he ducked back out of sight, his face-plates superheating in embarassment. He waited a long moment before he looked up again and resumed watching them with a wistful smile. At first, he'd watched because he hadn't trusted the other organic. Cassie had abandoned him in his hour of need! That sort of betrayal was not easily forgotten. There was no way he was trusting her now, especially with Sari! Then he saw how they began playing with that cheap little organic toy and he'd hesitated in his assessment. She actually seemed kind of... nice, in a strange sort of way.

Cassie might actually be a pretty decent kid! Okay, so maybe she needed to be house-broken a little, but she was still... not that bad. Sighing, Bumblebee sank down to the ground to resume working on his beautiful brand new X-Box game-system. It was't like he was small enough to play Hackey-Sack, anyway. He was just in the middle of attaching wire 'F' to port 'D' when an abrupt commotion distracted him. Bee activated his stingers in alarm, exclaiming, "Huh?! What is it?"

"Our Hackey-Sack landed up there," Sari tearfully exclaimed, pointing toward the rafters up above. Two miniscule Humans and one bright yellow and black painted Autobot gazed up at the distant warehouse ceiling.

"Look, Hon, it's no big deal," Cass explained, blinking the glare of the ceiling lights out of her eyes. Even with sunglasses, it was still a bad idea to look directly at them. "That's the way most hackey-sack's die. Somebody makes it go a little too high, it lands on the roof, and nobody can get it down. It's normal. I'll get a new one tomarrow."

Tilting his helm further back, Bumblebee activated his visual sensors to maximum focus. He could just barely see the toy up on one of the joints in the rafters. In disbelief, the scout wondered, "How the frag did you get it up there?"

Blushing, Sari admitted, "I kinda threw it too hard." Digging the toe of one of her yellow boots into the ground, she gave him a sheepish grin. Then she was abruptly frantic with alarm, again. "Oh, please, you have to get it! Please, please, please, pleeeeaaaasssseeee..."

"Aright, already," Bumblebee exclaimed, interupting the endless stream of begging. Venting a harsh sigh, he looked back at the horribly distant toy in frustrated silence. "I've just got to figure out how to get it, first."

"I'll do it," Cassidy volunteered. Even though she hated free climbing, she'd do anything to stop the whining. At least this wasn't the wall she'd been attempting to climb in order to escape Ratchet. Now that she wasn't crazed with terror, the brunet could see a much easier method of scaling the rough vertical surface. This was the wall closest to the the kitchenette. Before she could take more than two steps in that direction, a large robot hand abruptly blocked her way.

"Excuse me," Bumblebee peevishly inquired. "Just who is the Cybertronian in this room? I'm far more qualified than you are to retrieve anything from the rafters." Slowly, he rose to his feet, wincing as newly welded seams groaned in protest. He eyed the wood beam where he knew a hackey-sack resided. First, he reached up with one arm, stretching and straining for all he was worth. A groaning noise rose up from his pedes and the weld marks around his armor began to fatigue. Panting through his vents, he stopped and bent over in pain. Looking up at that almost touchable section of scaffolding, he scowled in frustration. Then he tried a jump shot like a proffessional basketball player. The opporative word was 'tried.' Barely making it two feet off the ground, the scout yelped and clutched his ankle joint in a picture of agony.

"You're hurt," Sari squeaked, covering her mouth in alarm. Turning, she raced for the medic's domain as fast as she could. "Oh, my gosh! I'll go get Ratchet!"

"Wait Sari, stop," the yellow scout yelled out helplessly, but it was too late. The nine-year-old was already down the corridor and out of sight. Venting out a sigh, he gazed mornfully at his still healing pede. Experience had taught him that he would most likely have an encounter with Ratchet's bedside manner, or as he liked to call it, 'The Hatchet!' Cursing was inevitable, as was getting manhandled without permission. He might even consider this injury stupid enough to warrent bringing out his infamous wrench collection. A shudder ran through his frame at that thought. Then he noticed Cassidy and one optic ridge rose in surprise. She actually looked sympathetic to his plight. Opening his mouth, he was about to comment on it when thundering footsteps shook the floor.

"Fine, youngling, alright," Ratchet groaned, following the tiny organic child into the rec-room of the base. Impatiently, he regarded the only occupants of the room. "What is it?"

"It's Bumblebee," Sari frantically exclaimed, her voice squeaky with worry. She gestured emphatically as she ran up to the prone scout. "He's...!"

"Sitting down, just like you told me," Bee quickly interrupted. He gave the suspicious older mech a winning smile. "That's why we needed your help! You see..." Searching around for inspiration, the scout's optic's brightened. Pointing up toward the ceiling, he exclaimed, "The organics accidentally lost their toy! We thought maybe you could get it down?"

Confusion descending over her dusky features, Sari interrupted, "But, Bumblebee, that's not why... Woah!" Abruptly toppling over on her backside, the small nine-year-old was rapidly scooped up into Bumblebee's servos before she could say another word. Cradling her carefully in an attempt to muffle any explanation she wanted to give, he presented the medic with a panicky smile.

"You dragged me all the way out here for a ridiculous organic's toy?" Casting a suspicious look at Bumblebee, he then looked upwards and zeroed in on one tiny, insignificant cloth sack full of foam beads. "Youngling," he exclaimed. "I'm in the middle of costly experiments toward making vital chemicals for your well being! I can't keep constantly..."

"Please," the scout pleaded, adding a puppyish begging expression for good measure.

"Very well, youngling" Ratchet groaned. Activating a tractor beam, he latched onto the small soft toy and lowered it to the ground. It plopped to the cement floor with a pathetic sounding 'shish.' Turning, he walked back toward his office, declaring, "Just don't bother me again, unless it's an emergency!"

Cass glanced up at Bumblebee and nodded respectfully, commenting, "Nice save." He looked vaguely ashamed of himself, so she decided to drop it. Some people were made for the lying arts, others weren't. The world needed all types of people to keep running smoothly. Instead, she jogged across the concrete floor, swiping up the hackey-sack as she went. "Okay, I'll start this time!"

Ten minutes later, Sari was racing back toward Ratchet's office with boundless enthusiasm. She was finally getting the hang of this game! Unfortunately, the hackey-sack was back in the rafters, again. Ignoring Bee's yelling at her to wait, she keyed open the door. "Oh, my gosh," she babbled excitedly. "Ratch, we need your help!"

"What is it youngling," Ratchet demanded, instantly panicking. He swiftly scooped her up, forgetting all about his own projects in the face of a possible injury. Humans were so fragile! It was a constant wonder they managed to survive one day to the next. "Are you bleeding, did something break, are you running a fever?"

"Er... no," Sari admitted, blushing. Then she remembered the excitement from earlier and was instantly all smiles. "But I'm finally figuring out how to play that hackey-sack game, and I got the highest score! Actually, that's why I came to find you, because it's in the rafters again, and we need you to use your tractor-beam thingy!"

Blue optics widened, first in relief, then in swiftly growing annoyance. Still holding the excitedly babbling nine-year-old in one servo, he trudged into the rec-room again. Bumblebee and Cassidy had the good grace to cringe at his glower. Raising the arm that wasn't occupied with a youngling organic, he aimed his tractor beam at the ceiling. The small toy was easily located. In a matter of seconds, it was encased in an eirily glowing blue light, lifted up, and lowered to the ground. Then he crouched down and let Sari, who was oblivious to his mood, hop to the ground. "Thanks, Ratchet," she happily exclaimed, as she skipped away. Straightening, he gave the remaining pair of delinquents a last warning glare before heading back to his office.

Ratchet should have known that wouldn't be the end of it. Barely five minutes went by before a chorus of dissappointed moans rose up from the rec-room. This was followed by the rapid approach of tiny organic feet. He gritted his dentas as another pair of organic shoes raced to join her. "Sari, don't bother him," Cassidy hissed anxiously. With his newly repaired audios, the medic could hear every word. "Just let it go."

"But Cass, it's stuck in the rafters again," Sari squeaked back. "And we can't bother Bulkhead because he's talking to his mom for the first time in a bajillian years! Ratchet's the only one who can get it down!"

"Life's not fair," Cassidy countered. At the small red-head's growing pout, she sighed. "Look, kid, like I told yah before, it's normal for a hackey-sack to get stuck up there. Seriously! It's how this kind of game normally ends. Now, come on. Let's avoid disturbing the scary giant syringe weilding robot, okay?"

"He's not being fair," Sari sniffled, as their footsteps began to retreat. "There's got to be some way to get it back! Hey, Cassidy, do you know a way?"

"Well," the teenager hesitated, obviously encountering the nine-year-old's notorious puppy dog eyes. 'There is one way... But it's risky!" She let out sigh of defeat. "Alright, I'll get it back, as long as you promise you won't copy what I'm about to do."

"Cool," the red-head exclaimed, running off, only to skid to a hault and come running back. "But how are you going to get it? You don't have a tractor beam, or a ladder, or anything!"

"Nope," the teenager drawled. "But I do have hands and feet. It shouldn't be too hard to get up there. I've already climbed halfway up, the other half shouldn't be that much worse."

"Over my offlined body," Ratchet growled, appearing in the doorway before they'd even made it to the end of the hall. Sari appeared to be confused, looking from him to Cassidy in a puzzled manner. By contrast, the brunet looked an interesting mixture between defiance and alarm. The medic and the teenager glared at one another for a long moment in a war of wills. Finally, the medic growled out a curse and stalked out into the hallway, again. It was a lot easier to retrieve a stupid organic toy than it was to piece together a Human body after a bad fall off of a five story ceiling. Then the toy was back on the ground and he was heading back to his office, growling, "Don't disturb me again."

He stiffened as another cresendo of disappointed moans filled the air. Snarling, Ratchet gripped the doorframe. This one had happened before he'd even entered his med-lab! Turning, he stomped into the rec-room, glaring murder at the younglings responsible. "I am through," he began in a soft, deceptively calm voice. "Playing goalie For Your Fragging, Rediculous Organic GAME! NOW! GET! OUT!"

For one shell-shocked moment, the three of them didn't move. A truly incensed Ratchet was an awe-inspiring sight. The hackey-sack up above wobbed under the repeat vibrations of stomping robotic feet and at Ratchet's full volume roar. finally dropped, anticlimacticly to the ground with a soft little 'shish' noise. No-one even blinked. Before anyone could react, they (and the hackey-sack) were shoved out of the base. With a cheerful beap, the main bay doors were locked shut behind them.

"Terrific," Bumblebee groused. Limping to the edge of the exit ramp, he plopped down on his aft and glowered at his still healing robotic foot. "Now I'm sitting out here, instead of installing an epic game system!"

"We could go for a drive," Sari hopefully suggested, looking excitedly up at her guardian.

"Can't," the scout replied with an annoyed huff, shaking his helm. He pointed at his stil recovering foot. "This turns into my left rear wheel and part of my axle. We wouldn't be able to go anywhere if it all fell off."

"That sucks," Sari moaned. Pouting, she clomped over and sat down on the edge of the exit ramp next to him with her legs dangling over the side as well.

Sheepishly, Cassidy suggested, "Well, we could continue to play the game out here. There aren't any cars that go down this street and rooftops are non-existant. Plus, there isn't a giant sized medical technician around threatening to duct-tape us to the ceiling." She tossed the hackey-sack into the air once and caught it. "So, what do yah say?"

"Ugh, count me out," Bee drawled, waving his servos dismissively at her. "That toy is what got us thrown out to begin with! I'm going to do something that's actually interesting, like exploring!" He stood up and walked with slow, uneven steps until he'd disappeared around the side of the nearest abandoned warehouse.

Together, they watched him leave with great earthquake inducing footsteps. Cass looked at Sari questioningly. At her look, the nine year old offered a nervous smile and a jittery shrug. "Um, he does this kind of thing all the time," she offered by way of explaination. "I think he just needs to blow off some steam..." Trailing off, she gazed after the yellow scout worriedly. The truth was, 'Bee had explained a little bit about his past and how messed up it was. She just didn't think telling the older girl about it without permission was a very good idea. Since the brunet still looked curious, she decided a distraction was in order. "Hey, let's play hackey-sack!"

Shrugging, Cass decided to let it go. Tossing the toy up into the air, the game was officially on! Whatever was bugging the yellow robot was none of her business, anyway. Neither of them were aware that they were currently under observation. Sarscream, a Decepticon of exceptional breeding, had been waiting with his usual impatience for his two wayward clones to finish their simple kidnapping job. ..And then they didn't report back for two entire days! Now he was fragged off! Hadn't he created them? Didn't they have his level of magnificence in their core programming? Obviously, this sort of wayward disobedience couldn't be ignored. That was why he was personally tracking the two of them down... and then he'd detected the Autobot.

Now, normally, he could care less what that little yellow scout of theirs was up to. However, he happened to have two organics with him. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were the Human pets that the Autobots had decided to adopt. Temporarily shelving his plans of punishing Thundercracker and Skywarp for their disobedience, he diverted course. He did need a hostage if he wanted his latest plan to succeed, after all. Things worked out even better than he'd orginally planned when Bumblebee actually left the area! Diverting course, he transformed into root-mode so his hands would be free to grab up the organics, set new coordinates and dove out of the setting sun, laughing all the way. This was going to be easy!

Unaware of the approaching danger, Cassidy and Sari kicked the hackey-sack back and forth. "Usually," the teenager explained as she bounced the small cloth ball off of her shoulder. "This game has at least two more players. And it gets almost impossible if you have more than ten!"

Bopping it off her head, Sari laughed, "Yeah, that would be crazy!" It didn't go far enough, so she tapped it with the toe of her boot on the way down. "Too bad Bee can't play this game! I know he'd be awsome at it! Well... if the hackey-thingy didn't run the risk of slipping between armor joints, that is."

"If Bumbles really wanted to play," Cass replied as she dove for the falling toy. "He could always activate his hologram!" She just barely caught it on the arch of her foot and hopped for a moment in order to regain her balance. Then she kicked it high into the air!

"Woah," Sari exclaimed, backing up to try to catch the hackey-sack before it could hit the ground. But someone beat her to it. It seemed like, for one infinitesimal second, the toy floated in the air. The next, it was gone! Both girls blinked in confusion and looked around. A loud crash abruptly rocked the earth and almost knocked them to the ground. Spinning around, they beheld an interesting sight.

There, at the end of the block amidst the debris of what used to be an abandoned warehouse, was a giant robot. Starscream sat on his aft with a very troubled look on his metal features and a servo over his chest plates...gagging. "Hurk, hurk, hurk," he coughed, helplessly. "Hork, snort, hurk, hurk..."

"I don't believe this," Cassidy growled in annoyed disgust. Putting two and two together, it was pretty easy to tell what had happened to the hackey-sack. Ignoring Sari, who was running around in circles bawling for Bumblebee, she glared at the giant robot that had just caught her ball like a trained dolphin. The Decepticon abruptly let out an almighty 'HORK' and spat the small cloth toy on the ground, inches from her feet. It was sopping wet, slimy, and glowing a dull pink color. Her hands clenched into fists, and scowling in outrage, she began stalking toward the behemoth of machinery. At that moment, she didn't care how big he was, or how many weapons were festooned around him. She was going to make him pay! That was when a pair of black servos scooped her up from behind and snatched her away. Judging by the yellow armor, it was easy to tell who those giant robot hands belonged to. Strugging to her feet, she did her level best to see over his massive metal shoulder as she exclaimed, "Did you see what he did?!"

Dodging laser fire from a thoroughly incensed Decepticon jet, the scout ran for cover. He ducked another blast that took out the top corner of another warehouse roof before sliding out of sight. Transferring Sari, who was in his left servo, over to his right servo which was being occupied by Cassidy, he transformed his entire left arm into it's electric stinger form and returned fire around the corner of a building. Venting out a laugh, he grinned down at the brunet. Okay, he was wrong. That hackey-whats-it game was fun, after all! And it was absolutely hilarious if it involved Starscream choking to death on an organic toy! The guys were going to love the pictures he'd managed to take before the fight broke out. His Human was having the time of her life, with all the exciting things going on around her. Cassie, however, still looked beyond peeved. Grinning, he teased back, "Hey, what's your big problem? Starscream gave it back!"

_Meanwhile..._

Skywarp flinched and ducked down just as the fight reached a new level of destructiveness. After one final explosion that shook the landscape, Starscream rocketed into the sky in humiliated defeat. "Oh, dear," the purple Decepticon whimpered, nervously wringing his servos. "What do we do now?" Casting a pleading, crimson eyed glance toward his clone brother, he shifted uncomfortably on his damaged thruster heals. They were clogged with hardened clay to the point that they could barely be walked on, and forget about flying!

"Quiet, you," Thundercracker snarled, not even bothering to look up. "Can't you see I'm attempting to devise a method of escape from our predicament?" Their prospects were abysmal. As of now, they only had one functional weapon between the two of them, an inability to fly, and an ever dwindling fuel supply. What's worse, they had failed their mission! Starscream tended to be a harsh taskmaster, especially with incompetence. The last mechs who had been deemed guilty of such a crime hadn't survived. Skywarp unknowingly echoed his thoughts.

"S-sorry, TC," the purple flyer warbled. He hurriedly found a seat for himself on a nearby exit ramp to a long abandoned storage facility. "I just don't want to be executed...that's all."

"Nor do I," Thundercracker agreed, becoming pensive. All the clones knew the story of what had happened to two of their brethren. Starscream had decided that they were a waste of parts. Planting bombs on them and telling them that they were upgrades, he'd set them up as decoys for his enemies. The end result hadn't been pretty. Both mechs had blown up, and their creator had promptly given their names to two new clones that had onlined in a batch of sixteen siblings.

Since then, morale had understandably plumeted. No-one liked 'Screamer (a derisive nickname that had developed over time). All of them wanted to escape, but there was nowhere to go! The Autobots viewed them as the enemy and shot at them, on sight. Their Decepticon associates always assumed that they were their creator and did the same thing. Humans were considered too unpredictable to be trusted and other planetary civilizations were too far away to reach on such limited fuel sources. Unless... "We'll go to Megatron."

"What?" Skywarp started at this unexpected declaration and stared at him in horror. In whispered alarm, he stuttered, "But he'll offline us!"

"Not if we word it correctly," Thundercracker replied, his processor already hard at work devising a method of playing up their usefulness. After all, he was cloned from one of the most manipulative Decepticons ever activated. "Besides, it's better to face him, rather than...our Creator."

Gulping, Skywarp nodded in agreement. His wings sagged at the reminder. Assuming a bravado he didn't feel, the purple mech straightened proudly. Thundercracker had aleady begun walking, so he grimly stood up and limped after him. They had to be careful. While Humans weren't dangerous, they were loud. Any alarms would alert the News-Drones, which would alert the Autobots, and Starscream would no doubt take notice shortly afterwards. So, really, it was best to stay low and out of view. Too bad. Walking on this hardened clay that was clogging up his thrusters really hurt!


	17. Chapter 17

Counterfeit

Chapter 17: Vacuum Pact

By: Mooncrossed

_Wow, thanks for the great reviews, everyone! I'd like to thank XxshadowfangxX (The real question is, will it work? Grin), to SunnySides (You would? Swindle's selling the tickets at fifty credits a person, forty-five for seniors, and ten and under get in free! Kidding), to entercleverpennamehere (Glad you liked it), to the mysterious guest reviewer (Modestly blushes. Thank-you), to Amanda (Ratchet's not the only one with anger issues. As far as Sari is concerned, wait and see. Grin), and to TheWeepingWillow555 (Screamer learned one of life's greatest lessons: never fly with your mouth open. Happy you're enjoying the story!). I don't own Transformers, any song called 'Only You,' or The Symphonic Grillers (if that music group actually exists). This chapter goes out to my parents, who helped me every time I was stuck, and to God, without whom I wouldn't have any tallent at all._

_I'd also like to send out a special thank you to TheWeepingWillow555 for the artwork she did for my stories. If you want to check them out, I highly recommend it because they're awsome! Just go to her author's page for the link. _

_In an undisclosed location near Detroit..._

Though the location was crude, the Decepticon army had done their best to improve their surroundings. Considering the fact that Megatron was in residence, it had to be better than average. Like this corridor, for example? Lined with metal from floor to ceiling, it was polished to a fine sheen. The reason behind this served many purposes. Not only was it pleasing to the optic, but it also made it harder to sneak up on Megatron's audience chamber.

Gazing at his reflection critically, Blitzwing examined his armor for the slightest blemish. One must look their best when they had a meeting with Lord Megatron. His monocle slowly extended until he could see on a microscopic level. That was when movement abruptly caught his attention and he shifted focus, only to abruptly scowl in disgust at a magnified image of someone's metal pectorals!

"Boy, those shower jets work good now," Mixmaster exclaimed, stomping into view. "I like to just crank it over to near boiling and blast away, eh Blitzy?" Shaking his helm vigorously in order to rid his audios of water droplets, he then happily scrubbed his dripping frame down with an old stained polishing cloth. Perfect! He yelped as he was practically tackled by the triple-changer.

"Honestly, I realize you are lower ranking," Blitzwing ranted, his Hothead persona firmly in charge. "But zhat is no excuse for slovenly armor! Did you even use solvents?!" Snarling, he swiped the polishing cloth over rusty edged shoulder guards, calcium stained gauntlets, grimy neck cables... The level of filth was endless!

"Hey," the Constructicon yelped. "I am clean! What? Yah want me to look like a washed and waxed Auto-sissy? I'm a working mech!"

"You are a Decepticon," Blitzwing declared in hauty tones. The triple-changer's metallic face shifted around until they were the narrow and austere features of Icy. His monocle twisted and extended slightly as he considered Mixmaster from helm to pede. "Zhat fact, alone, is enough reason for pride of appearance. And ve are presenting ourselves to Megatron. If we look less than our best, ve might not have our proposal accepted." He swept the polishing cloth carefully over the top of the Constructicon's helm and studied the mottled sheen that resulted. "Zere," he sighed. "I guess zhat will have to do. Now, you are presentable enough..." Abruptly, his face shifted a third time to reveal the laughing features of Random.

"Yah," Blitzwing's youngest persona gleefully exclaimed. "Like he just stepped out from behind a dirt-trawler in an energon mine! Hah, hah!" The triple-changer spun around slightly in a funny sort of little dance and waved both cleaning cloths into the air like pom-poms. Laughing, he then tossed Mixmaster's cloth toward him in a lazy over-hand throw until it draped slowly over the top of the Constructicon's helm.

"Ugh, get that thing off of me," Mixmasteer grunted, tearing the small towel off of his helm. As his optics were no longer obscured, though, he caught sight of his reflection. A frown descended over his metallic features as he looked himself over from helm to pede. His face screwing up in disgust, he looked down at himself to confirm what the mirror had already shown him. "Awww... I look like one of those pansy-aft show cars! Next thing I know, Scrapper will think I don't know how to pull my own weight on the job!"

"Hardly," Blitzwing drawled, doing a last minute polishing job on his talons. It had been a harder wrestling match than usual to calm his younger siblings, but Icy had finally succeeded. Promises of entertaining future mayhem worked so well for those two... Looking toward the hallway leading to Megatron's entrance chamber, he froze and lost any trace of smug behavior. Soundwave stood silently waiting for them. "Come," the triple-changer announced. "Ve are now being summoned."

"Huh," Mixmaster wondered, looking up from examining his cleaner than usual armor. He blinked in surprise as both the communications officer and Blitzwing disapeared around the cormer. The polishing cloth in his servo was instantly forgotten about as he barreled after them at full speed. "Hey! Wait up for me!" The Constructicon arrived in the audience chamber, vents gusting steam and his faceplates a superheated glowing red, just as the triple-changer sank down into a reverent bow of respect. Hurriedly, he dropped to one knee, as well.

Megatron gazed down at his two underlings in unimpressed silence. Allowing them a long moment to grow nervous, he then intoned, "Arise, Blitzwing and Mixmaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, yah see, Mister Megatron, Sir," the Constructicon casually drawled. A large, long taloned servo clapping solidly over his mouth halted any further words, however. Naturally, this treatment was met with a certain level of protest. Cursing wildly and flailing with both fists, Mixmaster did his level best to clobber whoever was crazy enough to muffle up his vocalizer!

"Vhat my esteemed comrade in arms is trying to say," Blitzwing declared in as patient a tone as he could manage. This was difficult considering the full grown Constructicon that was attempting to rearrange his faceplates with a well placed fist. Growling, he attempted to pin one of Mixmaster's arms. "As I vas saying... Umph! It is zhat ve have an idea zhat vill further ze Decepticon cause! Unt give us an advantage over our enemies!"

"Go on," Megatron intoned, placidly observing the bar-room brawl that was slowly esculating in the center of his audience chamber. Lugnut, his loyal second in command, started forward with the aim of halting the battle. The Decepticon leader, however, raised a servo to signify he wanted to let it continue. These meetings were often such boring affairs. Besides, a little in-fighting strengthened his troops for coming battle and reinforced troop hierarchy.

"Oh, speak English, for once," Mixmaster interrupted, at last pulling his face free of the triple-changer's servo's. Unlike Blitzwing, the Constructicons were a new breed of mech created by the all-spark out of Earth technology. This gave them a unique signiture...and a peculiar Human accent. In fact, it sounded remarkably like it came directly out of the heart of Detroit, Michigan! He landed a solid donkey-kick at the larger mech's torso for good measure. Striding forward, he slammed his other pede down on Blitzwing's back to keep him from getting up again. "See, Megatron, it's like this. We've got great spy equipment and plenty of listening devices, courtesy of Soundwave, inside of the Autobot base... But nothing's on the outside! The way we see it, we're missing a huge chunk of the action."

"Aaargh, get your pede off of me, you overweighted oaf," Blitzwing snarled, shoving for all he was worth. At the same time he activated his thrusters. This caused the Constructicon to get launched at high speed across the room. Like a cannonball with legs, Mixmaster flew until, with a crash, he hit the far wall. Dust rose into the air and a few new cracks formed in the cavern ceiling as a result. Looking bored, Soundwave silently slipped out of the room. No one seemed to notice in the tumult. Climbing to his pedes, the triple-changer attempted to clean up his now dented armor and failed miserably. He gave up and took in a deep intake of air in an effort to cool overheated systems. Then he attempted to continue their presentation. "As I vas saying, ve thought that cameras would be a little too easily detected. A holoform or two, however? Perhaps posing as one of those disgusting flesh creatures...?"

Together, he, Megatron, and Lugnut all focused on the far corner of the audience chamber. There, beneath a specialized heat lamp, was what looked like a giant empty aquarium. Within it were a series of computer consoles. Some were of Earth origin, others were Cybertronian data tablets and screens. On the sandy ground was a rough pile of blankets and an old lab coat that had been rolled up into a makeshift pillow. This was obviously someone's bed. And there in an obscure corner of the container, looking tired and aged before his time, was one small Human. Professor Isaac Sumdak paused in his work with the electronics board in front of him to wipe a lock of grey hair out of his eyes. It was longer now, for he hadn't had the opportunity to see a barber for nearly a year. 'As well as being filthy,' he sadly lamented to himself, rubbing his stubbled face ruefully. His captors didn't seem to understand the necessity of frequent bathing. Beyond anything, though, he longed to be reunited with his only daughter Sarita.

Reaching out with one hand, which was safely encased in a heavy duty electrician's glove, he picked up an oversized metal container and took a small sip of the water it held. He had to be careful. They only allowed him one container of the precious liquid each day. Pausing, his features gradually lost all color. There was, not one, not two, but THREE Decepticons all staring at him from beyond the transparent walls of his prison. Hurriedly putting the container down, he snatched up his plyers and resumed working on the circuit board. Inwardly, he prayed, he pleaded, he did everything he could think of to will the aliens to lose interest in him. The punishments for shirking his duties as a slave were frightening enough when they came from Megatron alone! If there were more of them this time...? Letting out a ragged sigh of relief as all three mechs miraculously lost interest in him, he paused long enough to thank whatever deity had seen fit to spare his life. Then he resumed working.

"Intriguing proposition," Megatron intoned, looking speculatively at Blitzwing. The triple-changer straightened up proudly, the promise of an assignment looming in his future... Suddenly, the doors to the audience chamber jerked open faster than normal. Soundwave practically flew into the room with two mechs clutched mercilessly by their shoulder-guards. What little that could be seen of the duo were long limbs and flailing wings. There might have been the flash of blue or purple amidst all the grime, but it was difficult to tell. Regardless, they were thrown upon their knees before Megatron's seat of power for his perusal. As angular metal features became visible in the dim light and crimson optics flickered uneasily, their identities became obvious. Both had a striking resemblance to Starscream.

"Clones," Megatron observed, his engine rumbling in ominous displeasure. He had been aware of the activities of his traitorous former second in command almost from the moment he had fled his duties. This was mostly due to a failed attempt to offline his former comrades using two clones with bombs implanted inside them. In the Decepticon's experience, Starscream severely disliked using the same technique twice. Still, just to be certain... Looking at Soundwave, he raised an inquiring optic ridge.

Anticipating his leader's silent question, the telepath silently shook his head. "Negative," Soundwave droned. Reflective blue lights shone off his polished visor and lent an air of emotions that were otherwise absent on his masked features. "Explosives: not present. Explanation: found at base entrance."

"Really," Megatron drawled, a note of false geniality drifting into his vocals. Ever since Starscream's first assassination attempt, he had longed to see the traitor brought to his knees in such a humiliating state as this. Gazing down at the pitifully dented flyers, he speculatively studied them from helm to pede. They were dusty, damaged, and obviously close to starvation. "You were lurking around the base? Pray tell, why?"

"We wish to join the Decepticon cause, my Lord," Thundercracker stated in as calm a voice as he could muster. Secondary programming from their creator had informed him that when adressing a commander, one must avoid showing even a trace of fear. No weakness, no pain, and for Primus sake, absolutely no begging. Such actions were a guaranteed trip to the smelter. That was why he spoke instead of his clone brother, Skywarp. The weak sparked fragger most likely had his vocals too siezed up with fear to do much of anything! A large servo fisting his jaw abruptly brought his thoughts back to the present. Cranking his helm back, it was to behold blazing red optics gazing down at him with a merciless sort of amusement.

Incredulity glowed to life in Megatron's fiery optics as he repeated, "Join the Decepticons?! The two of you? Why should I allow two mechs who are obviously clones of my traitorous former second in command into the ranks? Not only that, but mechs who are obviously in need of fuel and repairs? Both of which are resources we are currently in short supply of..."

"Because we can provide information on Starscream," Thundercracker rasped, feeling the dig of maliciously sharp talons dig even harder on his neck cables. He refused to show fear, however. Not only would it prove his worth from a Decepticon point of view, it would also be a defiant step toward not immitating his creator. Despite an ever decreasing ability to use his vocals, he continued to speak. "Troop movements, future plans, attack formations..."

"All this is easily acquired by my Communications Officer," Megatron interrupted casually, as if they were discussing the weather. His servo tightened a bit more until sparks began to glow to life where wires were beginning to tear apart. "Now, if you can't provide anything useful to the cause..."

"AN ARMY," Skywarp abruptly yelped, terrified of loosing yet another sibling. Though it was true that he wasn't the nicest of older brothers, they were still family! As crimson optics bore into him accusingly from all directions, he cringed back with fear of a different nature. In whimpering nervousness, he attempted to save his own spark. "I mean, it's a big army! Er... or maybe not? I-is five hundred soldiers is a large army b-by Decepticon standards? Maybe it could be? Hopefully?" His large frightened red optics drifted toward Thundercracker, hoping to get some prompts on whether he was doing a good job. Then he sagged in nervous disappointment. The blue Seeker was gazing at him with a mixture of exasperation and growing alarm. He let out an abrupt squeak of terror when the warlord's metal features abruptly arrived scant inches away from his face.

"What do you mean by five-hundred soldiers?" Calculating red optics studied the purple flier speculatively. Feeling the weak twitching of the other Seeker in his grasp, he negligently dropped him. Thundercracker landed on the hard stone ground coughing and sputtering. With a sparkfelt worry he never would have displayed under ordinary circumstances, the blue clone looked pleadingly at his purple toned brother. Glaring into Skywarp's dented and filthy features, the war-monger inquired, "How could I gain an army by sparing your worthless sparks?"

"E-everyone's dissatisfied with 'Screamer," Skywarp stuttered. "We're desperate to escape! I-if you offered safe assylum, everyone would flock to you! We'd gladly serve you to get away from him!"

"Hmmm," Megatron mused. "Salvage the pair of you, and acquire an army to do my bidding. Starscream's leadership qualities are as abysmal as I'd always suspected." The purple flyer grew equal parts hopeful and suspicious of a trick. Good. Such qualities would serve him well if he truly did join the Decepticon rank and file. His clone brother, however, was a different matter. Thundercracker had displayed a disappointing lack of guile in his dealings. Worse yet, he had apeared honorable, loyal, and polite. If he didn't know better, he'd be accusing the blue painted mech of being an Autobot.

"Lord Megatron," Lugnut interrupted his thoughts with incredulous dismay. "Surely you're not going to trust these two..." Here, the larger mech's words failed him as he garbled out a curse that flatly refused to translate into common speech. He waved a pincher clawed servo over the pair of fliers that were pitifully and painfully cowering upon the ground. "They are copies of a traitor to the cause!"

"My loyal second, Lugnut, has a point," Megatron intoned. Turning, he considered the two clones with a skeptical gaze. "Your creator is ambitious and brilliant, qualities that have served the Decepticons well. Yet he is also back-stabbing and prone toward making rash decisions. If I allow you and your brother to be inducted into my army, and the rest of your siblings by extension, I'm going to require proof that you are not like Starscream."

"H-how," Skywarp warbled fearfully. He squeaked in alarm when the Decepticon warlord abruptly loomed in close, yet again. Large terrified crimson optics gazed up at Megatron in alarm.

"A test," Megatron answered. At the look on the purple flier's features, the larger mech smiled. "Yes, a simple assignment, but one worthy of the offspring of my most trecherous of former commanders! The two of you... are going to high-school."

Wide optics stared at him from every corner of the audience chamber at this pronouncement. Skywarp looked confused, Thundercracker looked as if he was trying to decide whether or not he was being insulted, and Blitzwing looked horrified. "But, Lord Megatron," the triple-changer exclaimed. "Vhat about...?!"

"Yes, yes, Blitzwing," Megatron drawled in bored understanding. He waved a servo dismissively. "I realize your disappointment, but you and Mixmaster are of better use to me here at the base. Besides, your loyalty has never been called into question, while these two... They need a proper assignment to test their usefulness to the cause. Don't worry. Everything they see will be recorded from the moment they enter that fleshling compound. And I expect that information to be valuable."

He cast a calculating glance at Skywarp and Thundercracker and was gratified at the wary looks they were giving him. Perhaps there was hope for the blue one, after all? At his nod, Soundwave extended his manipulating cables and halfway grasped, halfway entangled the two terrified clones before dragging them off into the depths of the base like a pair of netted butterflies. They would need repairs and retrofitting in order to complete the assignment set out for them. Pleased, he dismissed his underlings and left the audience chamber, uncaring if anyone remained behind or not.

Blitzwing stood in impotent fury, his servos clenched. He heard a groan as Mixmaster slowly onlined. Sitting up, the constructicon held his head as he felt the lingering effects of a processor ache. Getting thrown through a wall tended to do that to a mech. He slowly climbed to his pedes, rocks and debris sliding off his armor and slipping into his joints with the movement. Crunching across the filthy landscape, he eventually made his way over to the triple-changer's side. "So," the smaller mech began, smiling hopefully up into Hothead's blazing red visor. "What did I miss?"

_Early that Thursday morning..._

Blearily, Cassidy opened crusty eyes to see a world turned upside-down. Open steel crossbeams stretched across a slanted floor way off in the distance. Looking 'up,' it was to behold a dusty concrete ceiling half a foot away from her face. At this point, she discovered that she couldn't move her arms. Turning her head, it was to realize that one arm was twisted under her butt and numb. The other arm was perfectly fine...it was just tied up in blankets. In fact, aside from her head, every square inch of her was wrapped up in sheets and blankets. She looked like a poor man's mermaid, one with a cloth tail. 'Great,' she tiredly reflected, yawning again. 'It's going to be one of those days! Wonder why I keep waking up like this? Haven't been this restless a sleeper since the sixth grade.'

At this point, she contemplated going back to sleep. Untying herself was going to be a long difficult nightmare. Finding a better position for her head so that it wasn't dangling over the side of the bed, she snuggled down for a little more rest. Unfortunately, that's when something wet, cold, and slimy dribbled onto her chest. "Gaaagh," Cassidy yelped, flipping over backwards. The sheets tore loose from her tire bed with a suddenness that was more than a little surprising... and she fell out of bed face first. Concrete flooring rose up to meet her and then her world was an endless sea of pain! She moaned pitifully into merciless cement.

"Croak," a voice up above inquired. Squinting opening brown eyes, Cassidy turned her head and looked back up at her tire bed. A small green hairless face peered down at her, looking more than a little worried. Lifting up dozens of skin flaps all around his head until the fruppy resembled a pale green flower with eyes, Rover croaked again. As if in slow motion, she watched a slime trail dribble out of the alien's open mouth and sag with the force of gravity. She scrunched up her face helpessly as fruppy slime hit her forehead with a wet squelch.

Twenty minutes later, with much cursing and squirming, Cassidy was free from her cloth imprisonment. She staggered out of her room wearing a living dress that writhed and crawled around her feet in a manner that could only be described as happy. Creepy and possessed... but happy! Rover raced on ahead yipping in excitement. Grumpily adjusting her sunglasses against the glare of artificial alien lighting, she began her endless trek toward the coffeemaker. With a morning like this, she'd need to chug down six cups of caffeine, at least. The brunet was unaware of the glowing blue visor watching her from up above.

_Day five of my apprenticeship of the organic alien known as Cassidy Jane Nulte,_ Prowl silently recorded into his own private data-file. _The Human has shown marked improvement at her ability to escape bindings. She has shortened her captivity time to twenty of her species minutes. When the organic is able to free herself within ten minutes, I will begin creating an obstacle course in addition to tying her up before she onlines each morning._ Once the coast was clear, the ninja-Bot silently flipped down to the ground. _After all_, he regretfully mused. _I and my team won't remain on this planet forever. It is prudent to prepare her to be able to defend herself when she is on her own. _Satisfied that he was doing an adequate job as her guardian, he headed toward the rec-room to set up an ambush in the kitchenette.

_Detroit High-School..._

Dark purple eyes narrowed behind stylish sunglasses. It had taken a lot of work and several exhausting hours of the worst vid-show programming he'd ever had the misfortune of watching, but he finally had the ultimate hiring scheme for Cassidy! The plan was fool proof! As he grimly studied the milling organic herds that populated Detroit High School, he reflected on the night before. Human culture and nuances were studied, ad-nauseum... Well, kind of. Right around the fifth movie about teenage drama, the huckster had muted it. Who wanted to hear about a crisis involving some organic's fledgling love-life? Or how awful some femme's keratin folicles were stylized? Add in the constant fretting over popularity levels and he might as well be watching Starscream! Rolling his optics, he had spent the remainder of the night studying standard Praxian framework and weaponry, as compared to Prowl's anatomy. Like it or not, he was most likely going to have to grapple with the Circuit-Su master and he didn't want to risk losing the fight.

On another level, though, he was slightly miffed. Here he'd made an absolutely perfect holographic representation of Human male attractiveness, and she wasn't persuing him! Swindle huffed in annoyance and drew up a simple blueprint of his avatar on his site-map. Chester J. Ivory was the epitomy of style, grace, and intelligence (well, as much as a member of this species was capable of being). He cast a critical optic over the holoform's checkered neon orange coat and pants. Raising one pixilated eyebrow, he then modified the tie color, changing it from the garish bright green color it was currently, to a more sedate metallic gold polkadot pattern. His avatar's body shimmered and shifted with the changes. Satisfied that he'd restored his holoform to the correct degree of 'cool,' he saved the changes and closed the program.

Then his smile abruptly sharpened as he finally located his quary! Turning his head, he spent a few brief moments hacking into the school's primitive mainframe computer system. Reams of data passed before his eyes, covering everything from student names and adresses, to their grades and test scores. All this was swept away and considered irrelevent. Only one thing interested him: the Sumdac designed Public Announcement Board! It was a simple matter to slip seamlessly into the bill-board's massive control network, and laughably easy to mask his presence from the main computer. He loaded the program he'd prepared the night before and re-focussed the cameras. Casually strolling over to a small compartment located at the back of screen, the huckster picked the electronic lock, removed a small cordless microphone, and turned it on. Clearing his vocals, he began to speak into it, "Ladies and gentlemen, this song goes out to a very special girl..."

At first, Cassidy didn't register the words getting blasted from the announcement board's loudspeakers. The school made a point of having at least one verbal advertisement at the beginning of every school day. Sometimes it was about an upcoming dance or future sporting event, other times it was a vaguely worded warning from Vice Principal Rowcliff about future punishments for breaking school rules. Frankly, all the seventeen-year-old ever really got out of them was that they were loud! Take today, for example? There she stood in the midst of the milling crowds, with a full styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand, dead to the world. It occurred to her that the voice over the loudspeakers sounded vaguely familiar. This realization flitted away into nothing as she fought to stay awake. Sighing, she took another sip of coffee. A typical school day was about to begin.

That's when the music registered in her mind. It was pretty, in a classical kind of way. Yet, as the violins steadily rose in volume, Cass felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to stand on end. She had a bad feeling about this. Looking around, she saw hundreds of her fellow students pausing mid-step with confusion plainly written on their features. Okay, so it wasn't some weird school promotional. "And to demonstrate how special she is," that oh so smooth voice blared over the speakers. "This is dedicated to her!"

As the lyrics to 'Only You,' by: the Symphonic Grillers (a group that was popular back in her parent's day) began drifting over the campus grounds, Cassidy grimaced. Great... Some stupid, love-struck fool was announcing their undying love over the school's PA system. It was showboating at it's worst. "Whatever," Cassidy grumbled. "It's none of my business, and I could care less. Sure feel bad for whoever's being put under the spotlight right now, though." Grimacing, she threw back the last dregs of her coffee. She needed the caffeine even if the stuff was getting cold.

"This goes out...to Cassidy Jane Nulte," the voice practically purred over the soundboard.

Cass choked and gagged before letting out a spray of coffee. Coughing, her eyes watering from the agony of almost dying by caffeine intake, the teenager squinted up at the huge announcement board in disbelief. An image of her blinked back. In fact, now that she was paying attention, a whole lot of people were also staring up at her giant sized live action shot on the big screen in fascination. Considering the newly Christened brown stain all over her shirt front, the brown and green streaked curls that stood on end all over her head like a still frame explosion, and the blood-shot half-crazed look in her eyes, who could blame them! Oh, look... She even had a hole in her jeans right where her underwear was located. A murmur began to rise up from the surrounding crowds.

Immediately, Cassidy switched to survival mode. It was a choice of that or curling up on the ground in sobbing misery! She had to find the nearest rock and hide underneath it until doomsday! Her mind feeling fuzzy from a lack of caffeine, she did her best to calculate where the announcement board's main cameras were located. Immediately, she began heading away from that direction as fast as she was capable of moving! Too bad there were people in the way. Under normal circumstances, she prided herself on her ability to blend into crowds and slip away like a ghost. In a milling group of oblivious strangers, it was easy. These people weren't easy to blend in with. No one was moving and everyone recognized her! As the dulcet notes to 'Only You' continued to croon into her ears at stadium volume, the brunet tried to duck around clumps of teenagers that stood stock still in wide eyed disbelief.

"Only yoooouuu," the voice crooned over the speakers loudly enough to make dogs howl. Cassidy stiffened as she abruptly realized... she knew who that voice belonged to. Rage building inside her, she clenched her fists and slowly turned around. There, stepping around the fascinated crowds with a dancer's grace, was a very familiar fellow student in a tacky orange zoot-suit. Chester paused long enough to give her a wink before launching into the final stanza of 'Only You.'

Recognizing signs of imminate violence, several of her fellow classmates very cautiously chose to step back. Cassidy was going to deck him. Yes, it was against school rules, and true, it would put a black mark on her record and ruin her chances of getting out of this school without Juvinile Detention, but she was beyond the point of caring! That's when Chester abruptly sank gracefully to one checkered knee and took a small black vevet box out of his pocket. What was he doing?! Terrified, the teenager stared at that innocuous little object in his hands. She didn't know what to do! Should she run?! In a sort of petrified horror, she stared as he slowly opened it for her perusal.

Swindle felt rather proud of his latest scheme. He had gotten the idea for this from a musical he had found. True, he had muted the volume, but he understood the basic idea. Now that he thought of it, he could have kicked himself for not realizing it sooner! The fastest way to activating her primitive mating protocols was by offering shiny objects! It was basic programming for most primitive organic species to be attracted to useless bits of metal and stone. Why, just last vorn, he'd had a horrible time shooing off a large flock of birds from his hubcaps. He'd had to refinish them, too. Blasted things wouldn't stop pecking at their reflection. Of course, unlike the film, a cheap little metal ring with a tiny little fleck of clear stone fastened to the top wasn't the best choice. To attract a femme this oblivious, he needed to go with something that was hard to miss. Large plastic jewels, glitter paint, the works! After all, who needed real mined rocks when the fake kind worked equally as well? Just in case it failed, though, he'd installed a low level stun device inside one of the 'jewels.' All she had to do was put it on, and he'd have one hired employee before the day was out! Shaking himself out of the odd train of thought, he focussed back on Cassidy and waited impatiently for her to take the proffered courting gift...and waited... and waited some more... What was taking her so long?!

Frozen in terror, Cassidy stared at the contents of that little black velvet box. What rested inside wasn't a diamond ring! Instead, what rested inside was a cheap little dime store bracelet, the kind made on an elastic loop, with plastic jewels. At the realization of this, the brunet had practically gone limp with relief. Oh, good! He wasn't proposing marriage! This was shortly followed by a white hot rage that made her want to strangle him! Slowly, with a glare that could melt steel, she gazed past the cheap trinket at Chester's smugly smiling face. That was when the whispered words of her fellow classmates drifted to her ears. With the music cut off, it was easy to hear. "I can't believe this is really happening," one excited Freshman whisper excitedly, her braces flashing in the feeble Detroit sunlight. "Talk about romantic!"

"I just wish I could see the ring," another eager gossip exclaimed, this one in the chearleading crowd. She bounced on her toes, attempting to see the contents of the small black velvet jewelry box. "Ooh, why isn't she taking it?!"

Other murmurs filled the silence, whispers of awe at Chester's audacity. Bets were already being taken on when he was going to get slaughtered for this latest humiliating prank. It was then that Cassidy realized, the zoot-suiter had staged everything with the skills of a mastermind! A quick glance at the viewscreen proved it! She was visible for the whole school to see, displayed in complete suround sound, coffee stained glory! So were a set of hands holding a black velvet box. The contents of that little jewelry case, however weren't visible to the camera. Neither was a certain greasy haired, tackily dressed, annoying zoot-suiter! To all intents and purposes, he really was proposing to her... in the public's eye, at least. And there was no video evidence on who it was doing the proposing. As she stood there, ticking over a set of options that were sadly limited, the brunet's rage grew.

The first stirrings of doubt began to enter Swindle's mind as the femme's stony silence lengthened. It was a good hiring plan... wasn't it? Worried, he performed a quick mental review of his latest hiring ploy. His holographic smile faltered into a rare frown as her face grew rosy with rage.

"You jerk," Cassidy yelled, almost to the point of tears. Whether they were tears of anger at his prank or relief that he wasn't serious was still up for debate. "I can't believe you'd actually pretend to ask me to marry you!"

Images immediately sprang up, courtesy of Swindle's search engine of a female Human named Mary who gave birth to a baby named Jesus. Giving Cassidy a look of confusion, he wondered, "What does she have to do with any of this?"

"Oh, don't play that game with me," Cass continued, stomping the ground in outrage. A murmer had started up. The people that had seen the cheap plastic watch had decided it was an epic prank, but the ones that hadn't seen the contents of the small box thought that this was the harshest rejection they'd ever seen. As she became aware of the backwash of rumors starting with her as the main subject, Cassidy stiffened. Then, hunching her shoulders, she turned and hurried away.

Meanwhile, Swindle was still trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Had he misplaced a line? Bent to one holographic knee at the wrong moment? What? It wasn't until he was slowly climbing to his pixilated feet that he got his first clue.

"Sweet fake wedding proposal, Chester," one of the techno-jocks praised, slapping his avatar on the back. "I swear, it was the funniest prank, ever! Hey, next time, let's egg her house!"

"What?! Wedding," Swindle repeated, his HUD already helpfully supplying a translation. "You mean mating?! But I never..."

"Awsome prank," one of the popular crowd shouted from the other side of the campus. "Seriously, I thought she was really going to spontaneously combust in embarrassment! So cool!"

Finally, Swindle finished reading through any and all articles on organic Human mating rituals that he could find and he blinked in stunned amazement. It began to dawn on him that it might not be a good idea to mute the sound on those old organic movie-vids... no matter how processor rotting the dialogue was! As he reviewed the data for his latest failed attempt to hire Cassidy, only this time, with the new information on 'marriage,' he winced. 'Well,' the huckster mused in shaky disbelief. 'Maybe it's a good thing it didn't work?'


	18. Chapter 18

Counterfeit

Chapter 18: Patch Job

By: Mooncrossed

_Hi, everybody! Hope everyone is enjoying the lovely Spring weather. I'd like to thank TheWeepingWillow555 (happy to have made you laugh), to SunnySides (the great thing about Blitzy is the fact that he can be likeable and terrifying, simultaneously. Glad you're enjoying the story), to RedtailHawk19 (nods, too true), to Noella50881 (he is a very determined huckster. Grin), to Amanda (thanks), and to XxShadowfangxX (Warp and T.C. Have the advantage of youth on their side. They might fit in better than they realize). This chapter is dedicated to my parents, who were a big help to me in getting this chapter done, and to God, without whom I wouldn't have any talent at all. I don't own Transformers, the Internet, or the Renaissance Fair. _

_Later that day in Detroit High-School..._

Groaning, Swindle allowed his avatar to sink down dejectedly onto a primitive wooden bench. He had tried everything to correct his mistake with Cassidy, and when he said everything, he meant EVERYTHING. Verbal platitudes went nowhere, stuffing her gym locker with her favorite organic treats had met with disaster! (For some reason that he couldn't fathom, she was less than pleased to spend the entire hour gathering spilled coffee beans.) Showering her with flowers just as she was walking into science class met similar results, and likewise was the negative reaction to the poetry he'd gifted her with in English class was dismally received.

Now, he was reduced to following her mindlessly from class to class as he wracked his processor for a solution, and even that was getting old! At this point, it was lunch time, and he was no closer to acquiring the tricky organic than when he'd first started! Quiting the entire scheme was looking more and more appealing by the cycle. Cradling his holographic head in his hands, he sighed in exhaustion. Oh, how he needed to recharge! Using his holoform for this long was putting a strain on his circuit-board. There had to be some way to correct this disaster!

"Hey, Chester," an organic voice inquired in concerned tones. Chislaen, known to her friends as Laney, hesitantly tapped the boy wearing the loud orange zoot-suit. "Are you feeling alright?" When all she got by way of reply was an unhappy groan, she looked up at her boyfriend, a worried expression in her large dark eyes. Ted rolled his eyes, but nonetheless wandered over, as well.

"Yeah, Chet," he drawled. They hadn't run into Chester for a while, despite the fact that he was part of the same Jive crowd as them. Unlike the prankster's psychadelic orange zoot suit, Ted wore a much more sedate version in a very fashionable brown color. Sinking down onto a nearby concrete wall to be more level with him, he inquired, "What's up? You look like you sat on one of your own whoopie cushions by mistake."

"What's up," Swindle asked in mocking tones. The huckster raised his aching holographic head to squint incredulously at the organic sitting next to him. "I'll tell you what's up! It's a surprisingly difficult problem that I can't seem to solve no matter how hard I try..." He trailed off as a new thought occurred to him. These two fleshlings were part of the same backwards species as Cassidy. They had obviously performed a successful courtship (at least, judging by Ted's dull coat color, they had). If anything could offer him insight into the workings of primitive mating protocols, it would be these two! Suddenly, he was all smiles. "Wait, you can help me! You see, there's this girl I know..."

"Oh, brother," Ted groaned loudly, already seeing where this was headed. Girl troubles, why did it have to be that kind of problem? Feeling uncomfortable and vaguely bored, the teenager tuned out of the conversation. This was a subject that was way out of his league. He half listened as the prankster described making attempt after attempt, and bestowed grandios declarations of love that went above and beyond the call of duty. Grimacing, he wondered how in the world he was going to drag his girlfriend away from this one?

With concern lurking in her eyes, Laney drank in every word he said. When Chester finally subsided at the end of his lengthy explanation, she hummed once in contemplative silence. "Well," she began in thoughtful tones. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might be coming on too strong? I mean, I don't know this girl personally, at least I don't think I do, but she just sounds like she's very shy."

"You really think so," Swindle wondered, momentarily startled. It was true that she was overly skittish for a Human. He could easily remember moments from the first time he'd abducted her when she'd gone into screaming fits for absolutely no good reason. The thought that her overall nervous nature might be altering her behavior was a stunning revelation!

Unaware of the trouble she was stirring up, Laney replied, "Yes, maybe you should tone it down, a little? You could try being her friend first. It might make things a little easier. By the way, who is this girl you're interested in?" Really, she couldn't help but ask. Her inner romantic demanded it. 'It's probably one of the Freshmen,' she silently mused. 'They're usually the most socially awkward. And the way he describes her, so small, with all that curly hair makes her sound like a real sweetie!'

"Huh," Swindle wondered, already hard at work concocting his next 'Hire Cassidy' scheme. Playing back the last minute of conversation he'd missed, he beamed a hundred watt smile at the organics that had been so helpful! Now that he had a better perspective on the species, she was going to be easy to acquire. And to think, he'd been about to give up! "Oh, didn't I tell you? Well, no matter! Cassidy Jane Nulte, ready or not, here I come!"

This stated, he took off for the theater building, just barely restraining his pace to a Human's slow lackluster run. He was unaware of the absolute stunned silence he'd left in his wake. Wide eyed, the couple stared after Chester as if he was insane before sharing disbelieving looks with one another. Laney's mental picture of a shy little curly haired Freshman crashed and burned before her eyes. In it's place was the most bad tempered, anti-social, dangerous teenager on campus. "Cassidy Nulte," they blurted out in unison, unable to believe their ears. Swindle, by this point, was far past the point of being able to hear them.

_Meanwhile..._

Cassidy was moping. Okay, so technically, she was hiding in a semi-secure location that was too public for the bullying crowds to attack her, yet private enough that any passing gossip couldn't easily see her. Yep, as of now, she was hiding amongst the Goths. Sure, the crowd Iris belonged to were indifferent to the trials and tribulations of normal high-school life, but did they have to pick the shadiest area around campus as their territory? It was freezing around here! Rubbing her arms, the brunet contemplated ditching class. She wasn't sure she could take another hour of being the star attraction of the year! Then there were the pranks, those horrible, horrible pranks! Somehow he'd managed to fill up her foot-locker to the brim with loose coffee-beans (which she'd been forced to clean up for an hour). A bucket full of flowers had fallen on her head as she'd walked in the door of Biology class (earning her detention), and English class had been bombarded by anonymous sheets of poetry all describing her less endearing qualities (it had sent every classmate into hysterical laughter). The problem was, her only other option involved ditching class and dealing with a bunch of insane giant killer robots.

As she sat there, shivering in the chill shade of over-arching collums and leering gargoyles, while being surrounded by pale as death Goth kids in their high Victorian finery... Cass decided she'd had enough! Climbing to her feet, she barely earned a quirked eyebrow from a pale teenager busy reading Edgar Allen Poe. Other than that, none of the crowd bothered to even twitch as she carefully tiptoed around them. It didn't help that they all enjoyed lounging around like so many lazy cats upon the stone steps of the theater building! At last, she was back on level ground and breathing in her first smog filled breath of freedom. Now, all she had to do was... 

"Hey, Cassidy," a voice suddenly called out, making her and about eleven members of the Gothic crowd that happened to have that name look up. When they realized they weren't the ones being called, they went back to reading, dozing, sketching, writing, or whatever else interested them. The brunet watched as Robby practically flattened a group of Freshmen in his efforts to get to her side. Then, breathing hard, he asked her. "I heard about what happened this morning on the quad...and, er... Congratulations?"

Groaning, Cass cursed the zoot-suiter for even daring to breath in the same hemisphere as her, let alone the same town. "We aren't engaged," she drawled in annoyed tones, her eyes sliding shut in exasperation. The teenager missed the relief that flashed across the football player's features. "It was just another stupid prank. He was giving me a cheap plastic bracelet. You know, like the kind you can get at a discount store?"

"Awsome," Robby exclaimed in relieved tones. Then he backtracked at Cassidy's skepical gaze. "I mean, um... I just think you can do a lot better than him, that's all!"

"Uh, huh," Cass agreed, only half paying attenion. Now that she was really thinking about it, shouldn't Chester be lurking somewhere nearby? She'd been anticipating another humiliating prank during the half-hour long lunch break. Suspicious, she scanned the milling crowds for an obnoxious orange coat... and was she developing a nervous tick? Then Robby's words registered and she gave the football player a genuine mischievous smile. "Well, look at you giving relationship advice! That's what I've always liked about you, Hon. You may be at the top of the social ladder, yet yah still go out of your way to help the rest of us."

"Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly," Robby stuttered, a blush turning his ears pink.

"No, seriously, Hon," Cassidy interupted. "I've known yah since the second grade, and you never change! You've risked your social status by rescuing nerds and geeks from the bullying crowd. And yah never want anything in return!" By this point, Robby was as red as a tomato, so she decided to drop it. It was true, though. The football star was one of the nicest guys she knew. He didn't seem to have a lying bone in his body, which was a little problematic. Sometimes she worried he was going to get ripped off by some scam artist. Overly selfless types tended to get victimized just a little too much in her book, and she always did her level best to try to steer the more mercenary of her fellow fast-talkers elsewhere. Right now, though, she was grateful to have at least one friendly face in the crowd. "Well, thanks for the concern, but I am well aware of Chester's less redeeming qualities. If he tries anything physical with me, he'll be getting a fist with his name on it."

"More than one," Robby muttered, his blue eyes narrowing at the idea. Hearing the rumor that the class clown had proposed to Cassidy Nulte, he'd panicked. All these years, he'd had a crush on the curly haired brunet. He still remembered the first day he'd seen her. It was second grade, he'd just gotten a gold star sticker for remembering all his state capitals, and then she'd shown up... sopping wet from the rain, covered in mud, smelling like burning hair, and raging mad. Talk about beautiful! His teammates knew about how he felt about her and teased him constantly, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her out. She was just so adorable, and smart, and sweet! What would she ever see in a guy like him, anyway? Chester's obvious interest had come as a nasty shock. Suddenly, he had competition and he didn't like it! Abruptly, she moved, jarring him from his thoughts.

"Well, guess I'd better go meet up with Harry and Iris," Cassidy sighed, her expression twisting in disgust. She hated French Club, but her friends adored it, so... oh, well. At least Chester wasn't going to be there. "They'll be expecting me..."

"Oh, yeah," Robby replied, with an easygoing smile. "French Club, right? It's cool that you know another language!"

"Only parts of another language, Hon," Cassidy playfully warned, waving one finger with a mock scolding expression on her face. "Thanks for the pep-talk. You did wonders. See yah!" Turning, she headed off to cross the street over to the old elementary school side of the campus. As she walked, though, thoughts rose up in her mind over what she'd be facing. A solid unyeilding wall of teenagers pretending to be residents of France and who were incapable of talking about any other subject! Her shoulders sagging, she continued trudging toward her destination. 'Well,' she mused. 'It beats hanging out with giant killer robots!'

_At that moment... _

Carefully picking his way around lounging Goth teenagers, Swindle directed his holoform up the theater steps. At last, though, he arrived at the massive double doors of the dusty old building and pushed his way inside. The blast of sound that met his ears was deafening! Quickly dialing down his audio levels and scowling at the noise, the Decepticon wandered down the center aisle of the audience chamber. This was not the micro-herd he was looking for. Well, not most of them. Griffin sat, slightly apart from the others in front of the piano.

Another dying screech sounded, making him wince. It sounded like a cyber-cat trapped in a transport vehicle's engine! He squinted toward the organics responsible and found a small group of teenagers sitting around in the orchestra pit watching a television turned up to maximum volume. Each Human had an instrument in his or her hands that was suspiciously similar to the objects the people on the screen were using. The film abruptly froze just as a Human on the screen was about to play on a large stringed instrument, and he sighed in relief. "Alright, everyone," an adult organic with a scraggly beard declared. "Did you get the nuance of that last number? Good! Now, on three! One... Two... Thr-"

"Actually, could I step in for a moment," Swindle interrupted. At the blank looks of surprise that crossed every teenager's features, he offered a charming pixilated smile. "I don't mean that I want to play an instrument. It's just...heh, heh, um... Where is everybody else?"

Irritated scowls crossed the features of every organic present, except Griff, who lowered his face into his hands in embarrassment. Before he could say another word, the techno-jock climbed to his feet. "It's okay, I'll take care of it," he drawled. "He doesn't mean to be like this, he's just home-schooled."

Gesturing toward the piano, the instructor protested, "But you're supposed to be doing the intro!"

"No worries," Griffin replied, brushing aside his dreadlocks. "This won't take long." Then he was grabbing the zoot-suiter by the shoulder and ushering him back toward the exit. As they hustled up the aisle, the techno-jock squinted at the catwalks up above until he recognized a familiar blond. "Weaz," he called out. The sneak-thief, who was leaning precariously out over open air fiddling with the theater sound-system, jumped and twisted around to look back down at him. Griff jerked his head in an unmistakeable 'Get down here,' gesture and Weasel nodded and scrabbled down the metal staircase as fast as he could. At last, all three stood on the stone steps outside, surrounded by apathetic Gothic teenagers.

"Hey, if yah don't want to get stepped on, quit lying all over the stairs like that," Weasel scolded a protesting Senior dressed in all black attire. He got a dirty gesture from the Goth for his trouble. Rolling pale blue eyes, the blond shook his head and grumbled, "Some people... So, anyway Griff, what did yah want to talk about?"

"Him," Griff stated. The techno-jock gestured toward the zoot-suiter standing next to him. "He doesn't know where everyone is, today."

"You're kidding," Weaz replied, looking momentarily stunned. Then a look of sympathy entered his eyes as he gazed over at Chester. "Ohhh, this is because you're home-schooled, isn't it?"

"Would someone tell me what the frag you're all talking about," Swindle complained, feeling annoyed to the point of throwing a tantrum. He glanced down at the Victorian dressed teenagers pooled lazily around his holographic feet. "And while we're at it... This isn't the best place for a private conversation."

"Eh, no worries," Weasel tossed back. "Most of the time, these guys can't be bothered to mess with us great unwashed! Yah hear what I'm saying?" All his words managed to earn was a disdainful glance from a girl sitting nearby who was reading a book of poetry. "See? What did I tell yah? Nothing!"

"Could say that again," muttered a teenager who appeared to be taking a nap. She was dressed in a fine lace corset dress with her hair pinned up in deliberate wispy disaray. Other than her comment, she didn't bother to move.

"Oh, yeah," Weasel challenged. He aimed a narrow eyed glare down at her that looked more like a pout. "Who asked you?"

"Weaz," Griff interrupted in long-suffering patience. "Remember Chester's problem?"

"Right," Weasel replied, squaring off with the other two. "The truth is, the group doesn't meet today because we've all got other things to do. It breaks up the monotony, you know? Plus, it scores brownie points with the higher-ups and makes them think we're worth giving scholarships to. Griff has his monthly music pow-wow with the school band, I've got computer club, and the girls are over on the other side of campus with the French Club."

"French Club?" A quick Internet search yeilded confusing, and quite frankly, disgusting results. His holographic feature's twisting in confusion, Swindle inquired, "Where they practice kissing?"

"Good one, Chet," Weasel laughingly exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "But, seriously, I've got to move! The other C.H.A.P.'s will be wondering what happened to me."

"Chaps," Swindle wondered, somewhat confused.

"Yeah," Weasel replied. "Computer Hackers and Programmers, otherwise known as C.H.A.P.'s Of course, for the yearbook, it's Computer Hardware and Programming, but eh, semantics. Anyways, we're about to make this major virus that will..." He trailed off as the hair on the back of his neck abruptly stood on end. Twisting around, the blond stared.

A hushed silence filled the quad, ever growing until it encompassed even the gossip ridden wannabe cheerleaders. Swindle cranked his holoform's head around until he could see the source of the disturbance. What he saw seemed strangely normal. Two Human teenagers were being escorted toward the office by an older male, quite possibly their mech-creator. Squinting in confusion, the huckster observed as the various micro-herds actually shied away from the three newcomers.

By sheer force of will, they cleared a path through the crowds. Swindle noted how Weasel and Griffin had also grown still. Both of them, though, maintained strict poker-faces. The huckster was left feeling puzzled. _What's so alarming_, he wondered, _About three random organics? _An Internet search wasn't yeilding any answers, and after a careful glance proved that no Autobots were in sight, he ran a light surface scan of the strangers. All three stopped and glared at him so abruptly that it actually made the nearest teenagers flinch.

Swindle cringed as well, but for an entirely different reason. They weren't organic! As the static ping of three other holoforms almost instantly bombarded his sensor system, he staggered back under a new kind of burden: viruses! Okay, so he knew scanning another Cybertronian without express permission was a breach of privacy, but lashing out with crippling spy-ware was a little too extreme a reaction! This also led to other questions. Who were they? And more importantly, were they here to stop his plans?

As he stood there, struggling to maintain his holoform's integrity while simultaneously fighting off multiple sophisticated viral attacks, he watched as the three Cybertronian avatars continued on their way. He didn't manage to cleanse his systems until the wide double doors of the high-school office building shut behind them. Slouching in relief, he listened to the beginning gossip of the surrounding micro-herds. "Did you see that guy," one Senior exclaimed. "Their dad works for the mafia, I'm sure!"

"Or the IRS," a nearby sports star drawled.

"Who cares about the dad," a cheerleader enthused. "His sons are hot! Identical twins that look like male models and attend our school?! Somebody pinch me!"

"Those guys are rich," another girl commented in conspiratorial tones. She was one of the nerds that tended to hide out at the library during lunch period to escape the bullying crowds. "Add in their good looks, and it's a double wammy!"

Quietly amused, Swindle listened to conversations that all centered on a trio of strangers that didn't technically exist. The general consensus amongst the organics was that they were attractive, rich, and dangerous. A definate shoe-in for the Popular Crowd. No one seemed to realized that they were aliens. Turning, he quirked a holographic eyebrow. To his surprise, Griffin was staring at him suspiciously.

"Man, oh, man," Weaz drawled in hushed tones, still staring after the three newcomers. "And I thought my life was bad. Ten to one, they have to go through therapy when they grow up. Their dad was scary!"

I'm more interested," Griff began in speculative tones, his eyes never leaving the huckster's. "In how they seem to know Chester. A glare that potent is personal."

"Wait a minute," Weasel exclaimed, catching a clue. "Yeah, you're right! How do you know those guys? What? Are they your neighbors, or something? Because if they are, I feel sorry for yah!"

"Not quite, Weaz," Swindle replied, still feeling mildly disgruntled. He'd have to come up with a suitable cover story later. As it was, Griff and Weasel had to get to their respective club meetings, and he had work to do. Was this what Onslaught had meant when he said he'd be keeping in touch? He doubted it. This didn't seem like his oldest brother's style. That left other, even more unpleasant reasons behind this unexpected invasion into his territory. A number of other possible candidates popped up in his processor. It could be spies sent by Starscream, Megatron, or any number of other enemies. The other possibility, though, make a chill race through his frame. If they were also after Cassidy, then that meant that they'd made the same breakthrough he had! One thing was now clear, regardless. There was more attention focussed on him now than ever before! With new resolve fueling his greed, Swindle carefully and covertly hacked into the school mainframe. Then, with the classroom number of the French Club locked in his processor and his HUD guiding the way, he wandered across campus. Imagine his surprise when he located Cassidy first.

It wasn't that difficult to spot her. He'd recognize that tired lackluster stroll anywhere. Swindle studied the brunet as she slipped into the classroom with an air of defeat. Curious, the Decepticon followed. What met his visual sensors when he pushed open the door was startling. The first thing he noticed were the walls of the little room. Unlike the other classrooms on the old elementary school side of campus, with their cheerful murals of sunshine and primitive cartoons of animals and toddlers, these walls had been brutally whitewashed. In their place were diagrams, newspaper articals, and posters about one subject: FRANCE!

Organics bustled and chattered at one another and odd sounding music filled the air. It only took a moment of Internet research before Swindle had read all he needed to know on the subject. As if he were visiting a Renaissance Fair or interesting museum exibit, Swindle wandered from one spectacle to another. In one corner sat a pair of female Humans wearing the latest styles to grace the Paris catwalks, and over there was a wall display of the French Monarchy's family tree. Along one wall was an assortment of organic fuel one might find in that fair country, and over by the window was a miniature of the Eiffel Tower made entirely out of popsicle sticks! Then there were the Humans in the room, who were all speaking a poor immitation of the French language! A genuine smile threatened to overtake his usual sales-perfect grin. Frankly, he found all of this rather amusing.

"Um, pardon moi," someone greeted tapping his avatar on the shoulder, and he pivoted gracefully on one heal like a dancer to look at her. Before him stood a Human female in a pencil skirt and high heals. Giving him a dazzling red lipsticked smile, she garbled something that he guessed might be an attempted greeting in French. Elegantly bowing, he replied with a phrase lifted directly off the Internet. She blushed and giggled before gesturing toward the whole room and saying something else incomprehensible. Guessing it was an invitation, he thanked her and continued on his way. Once she was gone, he was all business. Studying the room, he found Harriet and Iris lounging comfortably on top of a couple of desks. He raised a holographic eyebrow. If they were here, then why wasn't Cassidy with them?

At last, he found her. Cass was hunched over behind the buffet table (well, actually, it was three desks with a plastic lace table-cloth draped over them), gathering food. She didn't notice the holoform in the bright orange zoot-suit who was watching her. Then, her arms laden with pastries, non-alchoholic champagne, and cheese samples, she sank out of sight. It wasn't until she was finished arranging the last food item on top of an unfolded napkin on the floor that she noticed the patent leather loafers standing in front of her. Raising her head, she saw orange plaid pants, a reflective gold tie, and topping it all, a mocking grin. "Oh, no," Cassidy moaned. Gazing mornfully at her makeshift picnic meal, she muttered. "It's Chester."

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Swindle exclaimed, crouching down next to her. "I must admit, this is the last place I ever would have expected to find you!"

Gazing at him with a resigned sort of animosity, Cassidy drawled, "Are you conducting an experiment?" At the zoot-suiter's startled look of surprise, she clarified her statement. "Trying to see if it really is possible to annoy someone to death?"

"Hmmm," Swindle mused, pretending to give her question some serious thought. "No, that hadn't been my goal..." Then he gave her a dazzling smile. "But good idea!"

"Get lost," Cassidy drawled, rolling her eyes. This was just what she needed, a prankster for a dining companion! Staring at what used to look like an appatizing meal, she contemplated which food items would be the easiest to weaponize. She had a zoot-suiter to drive off! Selecting a styrofoam cup of non-alcoholic champagne, she took a delicate sip.

"Hah, hah, but seriously," Swindle continued, his smile morphing into genuine heartfelt remorse. For once, he was actually honest! "I'm sorry about what happened earlier today. I didn't mean for it to go that far or cause that much embarrassment for you. And if there's anything I can do..."

"Forget it," Cassidy growled, glaring at him.

Holoform programing picked up on his irritated mood and caused his features to begin to darken. "Hey, I'm being serious, here," Swindle exclaimed, honestly insulted. It wasn't very often he felt anything approaching what others might call a conscience, and it was almost unheard of for him to experience it toward a flesh creature! She should feel highly honored to get anything approaching sympathy from him at all! With some effort, he reigned in his temper. "But seriously, I never would have suspected you had this sort of interest... Do you even speak French?"

"Technically, no," Cass admitted with a sigh, beginning to pick at her croissant roll. Considering the company she was keeping, her appetite had been permanantly put on hold. Her lunch had become an excavation project.

Doing his level best to ignore the organic's choice of fuel (because, and he couldn't emphasize this enough, YUCK), Swindle offered her a boyish grin. "Oh, come on," he coaxed. "Not even one word in Parisian?" The organic paused in the slow dissection of her lunch. She slowly lifted her head, and gave him a sweet smile. He was just congratulating himself on an effectively executed sales job when she opened her mouth and gave him her answer... in the form of excellently worded, beautifully spoken French insults and phrases nasty enough to make a sailor blush. Then she triumphantly went back to peeling apart her meal. Swindle scowled back at her, and drawled sarchasitcally back with one word. "Talented."

"And there's more where that came from if you don't leave me alone, Hon," Cassidy drawled back. "Seriously, you have no idea who you're messing with! The French are some of the best people in the world at delivering insults." Doing a fairly accurate immitation of Madam Peltier, she declared, "Pronunciation is the key!"

"Do tell," Swindle drawled in skeptical tones. He was about to add more when the odd music abruptly stopped. Rapid clapping began from the front of the room, interrupting the stilted conversational French that the other Humans were attempting. Squinting, he looked at the older organic responsible for all this with a puzzled frown. Before them stood a rather dowdy woman wearing too much organic style face-paint.

"Bonjour, everyone," she sang with an affected French accent. The teenagers in the room chorused an answer back. Cassidy, he noted, slumped lower against the wall until she was practically lying down on the floor. She seemed bound and determined to avoid notice. "For those of you who don't know, I am Madam Peltier, Detroit High School's only French Teacher, and this is French Club! It is a place where everyone that recognizes the superiority of everything that is France can meet and relax!" Polite applause erupted around the room and Swindle looked around at the other organics in perplexed surprise. He honestly couldn't understand why everyone felt that deserved approval, but apparently, it did. Cass was now practically under the buffet table, allowing the decorative fake lace tablecloth to act as a kind of shield.

"Ooh-La-La! I can see that we have a new visitor to our modest gathering," Madam Peltier enthused, gesturing gracefully toward the zoot-suiter who was still crouched behind the buffet table. Swindle looked up and blinked in surprise as he was suddenly the unrelenting focus of every organic in the room. "Tell me young man, what is your name, and what convinced you of the perfection that is France?"

Blinking in surprise even as he slowly stood up, Swindle replied, "Well, er... I'm Chester J. Ivory and I don't know if you could call France 'perfect' exactly." He paused at the realization that every organic in the room had frozen at his words. "I mean, don't get me wrong, France does have it's good points. Their fine culinary skills, for example." Hostility levels in the room gradually lowered and he dared to relax. A few even gave him forgiving smiles... until he continued. Gesturing toward the occupied buffet table and the teenager doing her level best to avoid notice, he said, "And as my esteemed colleague, Cassidy has pointed out, they are phenominal at delivering insults." This caused the outrage in the room to increase to lynch-mob level. The brunet he'd held up as an example was now staring at him from her hiding place behind the buffet table in burgeoning terror, not that he'd noticed. Now that the huckster was warming up to the subject, he had a lot more to say!

"I just believe that all sorts of other cultures have things that they're good at, as well," Swindle continued. "For instance, Russia is noted for their Ballet dancers, Japan for their martial arts, and who can forget the British for their actors? You see where I'm going with this, don't you?"

"But the French are the best in everything," Madam Peltier spluttered in horrified tones.

"Ah, ah... You say that, but you don't really mean it," Swindle teasingly replied, wagging a chastising finger at her. "By your own admission, you contradict yourself. The French are a combination of several different cultures all combined! That would mean that the Celts, the Romans, the Norse, and several other indigenous groups that blended into the population over the centuries, are also perfect! Since you say that they aren't, and no two imperfect objects can combine to make something perfect, your declaration about France is disproven!"

"M-maybe you might have a p-point," Madam Petier stuttered, at a loss for words to form any kind of counter-argument. Perhaps it was the blinding quality of his tie clashing with his bright green suspenders, or maybe it was the psychedelic quality of his radioactive orange zoot-suit finally succeeding in damaging brain cells, and thus prevented her from righteously defending her beloved France. Either way, she had inadvertantly agreed with him that France wasn't PERFECT! Teenagers all around the room glared at Chester with all consuming hatred. Unfortunately, Cassidy was also included in that glare and the potential violence behind it. Even Iris and Harriet looked close to commiting murder! Nervously eyeing the room, the brunet hesitantly climbed to her feet and tugged at the prankster's coat sleeve. In theory, if they both started running opposite directions once they escaped the classroom, the angry mob would be forced to split up and they'd have a better chance at survival. She shouldn't have bothered.

"Gaah?! What the...," Swindle exclaimed as he was unexpectedly seized by several screaming organic teenagers! They pushed and shoved, tugged, and finally carried him across the room, before dropping him unceremoniously on the hard ground outside. Cassidy landed just as painfully right next to him. Just like that, the skies opened up and it began to rain in a typical Detroit downpour. Swindle winced at the abrupt slam of the classroom door behind them, "Well, that was rude," the huckster declared in insulted disbelief. "We were having a perfectly civilized conversation on the merits of Human culture and they threw us out! Why, I've got half a mind to go back in there and..." Then he caught a glimpse of Cass, and froze. The brunet was leaning heavily against the brick wall, with her fingers clutching at muddy gray bricks and her shoulders shaking. He grimaced at the sight.

While upset feelings weren't necessarily a hindrance to his line of work, they could be slagging annoying. And considering that the one crying her eyes out was his future employee...? Well, it wouldn't do to start off the working relationship on a sour note. "Hey, hey," he coaxed gently, but got no reply, only more shuddering. Doing his level best not to cringe at the soggy wet state that the organic was currently in, he reached out and carefully placed a holographic palm on her shoulder. "Look," he placated. "I'm sure they didn't mean it." Her shoulders shook again. "I'll bet if we go marching back in there, they'll have forgotten all about it! Why don't we just..."

She finally turned to look his way and he broke off in stunned surprise. Cassidy wasn't upset, she wasn't even crying! In fact, the femme was...laughing?! Swindle stared in open confusion as the brunet practically fell over from the force of her laughter! It was the sort of amusement that was so heartfelt that it was nearly silent. Shoulders shaking, her face pink from a lack of air, she sagged weakly against the bricks. "I can't believe you made them do that," she breathlessly began, only to collapse into more snickers and guffaws. Clutching his arm, she gave him a pained grin as she declared, "You, sir, are a dangerous man!" Then, after one glimpse of his perplexed frown, she fell into another giggle-fit.

Confused, the huckster inquired, "You... aren't upset?" She shook her head, confirming that she was not at all sad or angry. Now, he was worried. Had she gone insane? Nervously glancing toward the nearest street, it was to see a roadway that was absolutely devoid of homicidal motorcycles. Deciding that the situation was dire enough, he risked a light electro-magnetic scan. She flinched at the magnetic bombardment that made her teeth ache and suspiciously began studying her surroundings for the motorcycle she was certain was responsible, not that Swindle noticed. He was too busy waited for the result of his scan. _No_, he concluded as he read the readout on his HUD. _Aside from a slight amount of head trauma yesterday, she seems to be fine. So, what the frag was her malfunction?_ Finally, he asked the one question science didn't seem to have an answer for. "But...why aren't you upset?"

Still snickering, Cass weakly climbed to her feet and silently offered to help him up. The rain was fading to a light mist, leaving glistening sidewalks and dripping water. "Maybe I didn't want to be stuck in there," she continued, doing her level best to fight back another laughing jag. "Did you ever think of that?"

He stared at her in incredulous silence. Swindle tried to wrap his robotic brain around the idea of volunteering to do something that you didn't enjoy for no discernible gain, and wound up with a logic glitch. This, in turn, led to a processor-ache. "But if you didn't want to be a member of the French Club," the hologram sputtered. "Then why did you join in the first place?!"

"Griff has band practice today," Cassidy replied, rolling her eyes. "And I can't play a musical instrument to save my life. Besides that, I can only endure so much marching band music before I want to kill someone." Climbing to her feet, she casually jerked her head to the side in a silent invitation for him to follow. As they wandered further away from the classroom, she continued speaking. "Weasel has computer club today, which I have been banned from on a permanent basis. They said, and I quote, 'If you crash one more of our computer monitors, we're hacking your bank account into oblivion!' That leaves Iris and Harry's pet obsession, French Club, as my only remaining option."

"Yet that still doesn't explain why you attend a group that you hate being a part of," Swindle complained. Okay, so he was whining like a little sparkling. As far as he was concerned, his processor-ache justified his attitude by one-hundred percent!

Cassidy gave him a mock surprised look, inquiring, "It doesn't?" Alright, she'd admit it. She was having too much fun teasing him. Maybe it was unwise to mess with the most talented prankster this side of the country, but considering the kind of day she'd had, she felt she deserved a little payback! At his pouting, sad-eyed expression, though, she felt a twinge of pity. The brunet sighed. "Look," she began. "Everybody else has something to go to on Thurdays, and I just didn't want to be by myself. Okay?"

"Even if it meant that you had to rub shoulders with those," Swindle trailed off, searching his language data-base for a word that wouldn't sound like an insult. In some ways, the members of the French Club reminded him of Seekers. Full of trilling, chirps, and arrogance.

"Yup," Cassidy confirmed, nodding grimly. "Even then. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that Harriet and Iris have a group that works for them... It's just not my thing. Besides, if you hadn't gotten us thrown out, I probably would have strangled someone! They really need to work on their accents."

"In that case," Swindle replied, grinning. He paused a moment to sketch an exaggerated bow. "I am happy to have rescued you."

"Many thanks, kind sir," Cass replied in a fake British accent, pantomiming a somewhat damp curtsy right back. She regally observed the prankster standing before her in all his loud orange zoot-suited glory. Then she couldn't keep a straight face any more. Dissolving into a fresh round of laughter, she chortled, "Oh, the expression on that poor woman's face!"


End file.
